If this keeps up, I’ll need new organs and cybernetics.
But I want to win!
Alarms and pain fight for my attention as blackness and unconsciousness looms…
I tap out.
The crowd goes wild with cheers, and he helps me back to my feet. Everything is blurry, but my sight programs are being restored. When I can see, he’s smiling.
I can’t manage to say anything yet, so I just nod.
* * *
I’m an idiot.
Back in the box, no one wants to look at me…but not because they’re watching the rest of the Cirque, either. No, it’s just that no one particularly wants to look at me right now. Sure, I’m cleaned up—mostly—and have my uniform back on, but I’m still a mess. That’s not why, of course.
This was a big screw-up, and it’s all on me this time. I should have known better, and if I’d been thinking, I would have.
It’s not being beat that stings. I’ve been whipped before, and it’ll happen again.
I let people down. As honor guard, all I had to do was look pretty, uphold the honor of the ambassadorial mission, and stay out of trouble. I’ve failed in every single case—though admittedly, I was never going to look pretty. This debacle made me look like an idiot, and, as honor guard, made the ambassador look like an idiot—and he really doesn’t need any help in that department.
While I’m OK at unarmed combat, it’s not my focus or expertise. I’m an Angel pilot, and while I’m good at it, I’m nowhere near Jupiter’s best. This guy is the best Venus has. He’s built from the toes up for this kind of fighting, and I’m not. This whole thing was a trap and a setup, and I walked right into it.
Sure, sure, I can try to find others to blame and look for excuses and reasons. There’s plenty of options. The ambassador approved it…it looked like just a friendly match…the atmosphere of the Cirque and the crowds got to me…the Venusians are drugging the air, food, and surfaces with psychoactive drugs. All true, but mainly…this was personal.
I wanted to wipe the smirk off that Venusian noble’s face. This was about payback, for all the little mind games they’ve been playing since we got here, for all the attempted poisonings and drugging, for the endless and constant lies, and for the direct attempt on my life. If I’m going to be honest with myself, it goes back even farther than that. The way Venus stabbed us in the back at the Battle of Mars still hurts, and knowing the people who did it will almost certainly get away with it just makes my anger and resentment burn hotter.
They knew.
The Venusians figured out that I was the weak link to attack, because I let my irritation, resentment, and anger show. So they manipulated me and messed with me until I did something stupid. I gave them everything they wanted: a spectacle, an embarrassment for the Jupiter mission, and a walking stereotype that proves Jovians are loutish, crude, and violent brutes.
My actions here have been disgraceful. What I’ve done is betrayed my position as honor guard and substantially weakened our bargaining position with Venus. I couldn’t have done more damage than if I’d been a paid Venusian agent…
Enough!
I’ve got to get over this and keep going. The ambassador can’t publicly reprimand and dismiss me now; that would only look worse. Whatever the consequences are, I’ll face them later, and own up to what I’ve done. For now, there’s still a job to do. I just need to keep going until this mission is done.
The first round of formal negotiations is tomorrow so I’ll need to get some sleep and be ready for anything.
Hopefully, I won’t find a Venusian girl, salamander, or anything else in my bed tonight.
* * * * *
Chapter 9
Diplomatic Fallout
The formal negotiations are being held in a dome, of course, because that’s always the way we do things. With current technology, a large open space for meeting doesn’t have to have the loadbearing structure of a dome, but it’s traditional. We don’t even have to meet in person—anywhere close enough that light-delay isn’t too bad would be fine—but personal meetings are also traditional. We Jovians like tradition—our Senate still meets in a massive domed hall, in person, with formal introductory statements and all that. House Unicorn is also big on tradition and wanted a meeting that hearkened back to earlier times, when diplomats and emissaries met in person to lie and betray each other.
I like the dome because it gives me an unobstructed line of fire and observation in case anything goes wrong.
The chamber dome is surprisingly muted, for Venus, and instead of gaudy, complex artwork, it simply shows a holographic image of the cloudscapes outside. It’s something soothing to put both native Venusians as well as sky-dwelling Jovians at ease. Gold and platinum run around the edge of the great dome, of course, and the floor is an elaborate mosaic of the inner solar system. There’s a raised dais for whoever’s speaking, and the various negotiating parties are sectioned off on the floor below. Holographic representations of whatever is being discussed at the moment float overhead in the middle of the air. There’s an upper rim around the dome, where the honor guards of the various parties are stationed in our flashiest uniforms.
The opening round of discussions has so far been empty pleasantries and introductions, along with a few pieces of propaganda disguised as art and theater. Nothing significant has come up yet. I suspect everything important has already been discussed in secret back rooms—or, more likely, through messaging—and the actual meeting and discussions are all for show.
There’s no telling what our idiot ambassador has already given away to the Venusians. He’s clearly besotted with them, and they’ve been playing him like a fine instrument in an orchestra.
Don’t worry about that, Mike. Focus on what you can do.
What I can do is worry about security. I’m honor guard, after all, and the ranking officer over the other detachments of security Jupiter assigned here. So if anything goes wrong, it’s my responsibility.
The heads of the Great Houses are all here, and one bomb could decapitate the leadership of the planet.
Initially, I argued for us being in heavy power armor with full-spectrum assault kit. The ambassador shot that one down immediately, saying there was no way we were going to the negotiations “looking like barbaric savages.”
Then, to make matters worse, he demanded we not carry live weapons into the chamber—nothing, not even sidearms. He insisted it would be a mortal insult to our Venusian hosts, especially after all the times we’ve insulted them. Then he followed up with a tirade about how a bunch of barbarians, like me and the Marines, couldn’t be trusted to restrain ourselves in civilized company.
Fortunately, I didn’t mention, with all of the cyber-augments in us, we basically are weapons, nor did I bring up some of the interesting defensive and offensive capabilities built into our uniforms. I also managed to convince him to let us at least carry prop weapons, to fulfill our “real” mission of being show troops for the big spectacle. He relented at that, at least, and we’re all stuck wearing glittering braid and all our finery on our armored uniforms. He even insisted on the cape. Apparently, my full Alpha-class uniform comes with a cape at my rank. Who knew? I’ve never seen anyone wear it before, but he insisted on every protocol being observed, so here it is. While I’m tempted to swish it, I think that would be bad protocol. I finally get a cape, and I’m not allowed to swish it.
Our show rifles and sidearms look very real—because, of course, they are.
There was absolutely no way I was allowing us go into this unarmed. My fellow Angel pilots have got the usual laser pistols and carbines, along with the mono-edge diamond knife that’s typical for our gear. I couldn’t think of an excuse to carry anything heavier, since my excuse for carrying these “mockups” was that they’re standard gear. The Marines are carrying more sensible railguns with attached SPG launchers, all very real and fully loaded, naturally. None of this would ever have gotten past the scans of our Venusian hosts, but
it didn’t need to.
After all, the Venusian honor guard up here are also fully armed with real weapons; it’s expected. I expect the ambassador asked the Venusians to come disarmed, and I bet they smiled and lied through their teeth. There’s no way they’d come to a meeting without guns under the table—that’s not how it’s done here on Venus. My sensors pick up the power signatures of a variety of energy weapons, explosives, powered blades, and cybernetic enhancements in not only the Venusian honor guard, but several of the “spectators” in the crowd below.
We know we all have real weapons; they know we all have real weapons. My superiors know we’re armed, and so do the Venusian and our own intelligence agencies. The only one who thinks we’re all disarmed is the ambassador, and I’m not going to tell him if they don’t.
Our sensor nano-dust is in the air, looking for any possible threat or contaminant, while we scan the crowd for trouble. We’re standing guard at the finest parade rest, but that’s just our augments keeping us in the rigid position. What would have gotten me chewed out in training is a necessity here, as we need to keep our attention devoted to what’s going on around us. We’re all looking everywhere, through all the sensors we’ve positioned throughout the chamber, and interrogating the computer systems, Jovian and Venusian, trying to see if anything’s going to go wrong.
In addition to this, we’ve got all our staff on high alert throughout the city. Our quarters are blocked off, with the local networks fully under our control and autonomous systems patrolling the secured hallways. The hangar is guarded by our Angels, which are fully armed and able to repel anything, short of an assault battalion, that tries to take the hangar. Our people up in orbit are also on high alert, and I’m sure Shackleford’s intelligence spooks are doing something…not that he’d ever tell me.
Princess Lairana Aurien-Rel of House Unicorn is speaking from the dais. She’s in an elegant, shimmering, prismatic gown, with her hair done up in a glittering diadem of memory diamonds. Her voice is augmented with a number of subharmonic tones that blend together like the instruments of an orchestra in a hypnotic tone no recording could catch. Even being able to analyze the sound, it’s still powerful, and she influences everyone in a profound way.
Currently, she’s making her case for Venus taking over Mercury. “Consider then how the destinies of Mercury and Venus have been intertwined since their beginnings. Both dance in an orbit with a ratio of their days to their years and also harmonize their dance with each other. Even separated through the void of space, our two worlds have set the day and year of each other through gravity, which is the love by which matter is attracted to each other. Our year and day have been set by Mercury, and likewise has Mercury’s been set by the path of Venus. Only through the gravity of both have our worlds avoided tidal lock with the Sun. Our connection with Mercury is no less than Earth’s connection with Luna. It is said the Terrans can feel the tides in their blood. How much more must Mercury, a whole world, stir our blood? For here is our closest companion world, forever dancing around the sun with us. Mercury and Venus are like two lovers, who forever seek each other, forever dancing, but who are unable to truly meet.”
And so on. The speech is basically an artform meant to be pretty and poetic, but it’s not really an argument. Nor were any of the other, earlier speeches. Crass details such as economics, interplanetary politics, spheres of influence, and alliances don’t come up at all. That’s not what this meeting forum is for. All that stuff must have been worked out between parties earlier, in secret. This forum is the artistry and pageantry to conclude and crown the decisions that have already been made.
Judging from the way the speeches are going, Venus will end up governing Mercury, and that’s it. The factions that wanted an inner-system Venusian Empire will be disappointed. Apparently, Jupiter isn’t going to just give up the whole inner solar system to the Venusians to do whatever they want to it. Good. Maybe I’ve underestimated our ambassador. Or, more likely, the people back at Jupiter overrode him and made it clear that Venus wasn’t going to be allowed to take over Earth and Mars after we’d fought so hard to keep them free from Saturn. That’s who’s always been the real enemy, and it’ll be nice once we conclude the formal peace treaty with Venus, and we can focus our attention back on the outer solar system where it belongs. We don’t even really need the help of Venus, though it would be nice. All we really need is for them to stop causing trouble, and…
Uh, oh.
Some of the Venusian honor guard are tensing up. It’s subtle—a twitch of an eye here, blood vessels expanding there, increasing heartrate, all possible indicators of augmentation and biosystems turning on.
I activate my own augments and send a coded alert signal to my men. Time seems to slow, and the princess freezes mid-speech. Visual augmentation shows the room in infrared, ultraviolet, radar background scatter, and x-ray. Vector projections for motion overlay everything. Sonar reflections create a complex picture of everyone, and matter appears translucent, as I can see the various structure and augmentation buried within the flesh of the gathered crowds. Radiation and magnetic detectors indicate the power surges ramping up in almost everyone present.
This entire dome looks like it’s about to turn into a battlefield.
What if I’m wrong? I can’t be the first one to fire a shot and start the whole war all over again—and I can’t just sit by and do nothing. Maybe there isn’t an attack incoming…
A droplet of sweat forms in slow motion on the princess’s perfect face. Even she can’t totally mask her mortal terror.
It’s going to go down—here and now—and I have to act.
* * *
The princess is likely the main target of an attack to decapitate the head of House Unicorn, but the ambassador is my charge. Both are unprotected and exposed to fire from every possible direction. Save the beautiful maiden, or the oaf?
I do my duty, leaping from the balcony with my cape rippling out behind me, and take the ambassador to the deck, covering him with my body.
Everything happens at once, even in the slow-motion of my augmented nervous system.
The princess explodes, and the assassins hidden in the crowd open fire.
Rail-gun needles, laser fire, and feather shrapnel tear into the back of my armored uniform, which stops the light arms fire, saving both my life and the ambassador’s.
The honor guard of House Dragon opens fire on the other two Houses and my men with laser lances, while the other noble houses return fire, creating a shifting webwork of reflected beams bouncing off of each other’s gleaming, prismatic armor.
Meanwhile, the crowds on the floor transform into monsters, extending claws, fangs, and weapon barrels from bio-sheathes and twisting into unnatural poses as their joints reposition for the speed and strength of their augmentations. Natural and unnatural armor of hide, scales, and chitin erupt from beneath their flesh.
The network systems for the entire dome crash, cutting us off from communication with the outside world, jamming all our communications systems, while sealing the ornate doors into the chamber, and cutting out the lights and holograms above us. The chamber is still well-lit by reflected laser light, flashes from explosives, and newly started fires.
My men, already fired upon, return fire. Laser fire from my squadron sears into the cyborgs and mutants transforming to attack us on the floor, burning though their skin, hair, and scales amid screams, howls, and growls. The Marines open up with their heavier railguns on the Dragon honor guard, shattering their crystalline armor and ravaging the Venusian nobles inside. Marine SPGs blast into plasma detonations among tightly packed crowds of enemy, scattering them.
One second.
“Wha—?” the ambassador sputters.
I tear off the stupid cape and throw it over the ambassador. The smart-cloth armor is as good as what’s in my uniform and should help keep him alive. A Venusian reaches for us, his face splitting into a diamond-fanged muzzle, with a plasma projector lighting up
at the back of his throat. My diamond knife is already out, driving up though his jaws and into his brain in an instant.
Behind us another Venusian extends needle projectors from his arms to fire on us. I draw my laser pistol with my other hand, burn though his eyes with two quick shots, and he collapses in agony.
Two seconds.
By now we’ve reestablished a new communications network, enabling us to direct fire and identify and prioritize targets. We’re in blue outlines, House Dragon is in red, and everyone else is in yellow, possible friendlies or foes; we can’t be sure. Countermeasure dust is already in the air, creating dazzling displays of light as all the lasers glaring back and forth through the chamber are refracted and weakened by the crystals in the dust.
A large crowd of Venusian mutants, braving the fire from above, is trying to rush the ambassador before they’re cut down.
My knife and pistol seem to hang in the air, slowly floating to the ground as I drop them and pull out my laser carbine, set on wide dispersal. On this setting, it works like a short-range flame-thrower, lighting their skin and fur on fire, while melting and igniting their clothing and gear. They scream and cover their blinded eyes, not dead, but slowed enough for my men above to finish them off before they can close on us.
Three seconds.
Most of House Dragon is down, with the other Houses and the Marines finishing them off.
Bio/nano alarms sound in my augmentation. There are more than just countermeasures crystals in the air. My internal augments go to work, fighting the microscopic invaders, while I drop my carbine to jab a hypo filled with broad-spectrum countermeasures into the ambassador’s back.
“Ah!” he yelps. I interpret that as, “Thank you for saving my life.”
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