Saturnius Mons

by Jeremy L. Jones

  Althea removed the syringe and sat down. “I should have listened to you back on the wall before you jumped into the middle of the battle. You were right; you needed another treatment before all that happened. When I finally found you, there was almost no synoptic response. When I finally got one, you didn’t know who I was. You were lucid for a short time before you dropped out entirely. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure you’d come back. Part of me knew that you shouldn’t have gone out in that state, but I let you do it anyway.”

  Viekko took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. “Why did you?”

  “I guess part of me wanted to punish you for putting me, putting us, in this situation in the first place. That was wrong. You have a disease, and we need to find a way to treat it.”

  “Fair ‘nough. So where do you want to start?”

  A warm smile crossed Althea’s face. She got up and activated the screen on her EROS computer. “Glad you asked. That thing I just injected you with, it helps the medical regulator penetrate the blood-brain barrier so I can better analyze the damage to your pituitary gland. It’s become clear to me now that it’s reached the stage that the triple-T is interfering with your body’s ability to produce endorphins. The good news is your body is still producing them. With the right medication I think I can encourage more production while weaning—”

  Viekko interrupted, “Yeah, Althea. That all sounds just wonderful. Really, I can’t wait. But can I get a glass of water or something first? The back of my throat feels like the backside of a sand mole.”

  Althea switched off the screen. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

  She walked out the door. Viekko’s eyes went immediately to the black medical bag. There was no way she’d leave him in the room with the triple-T.

  He got up as fast as the pain would allow and swung his feet over the bed. Everything seemed to hurt worse now than it did when he was walking around with a chunk of metal in his side. Of course he was so lost in the Haze, he couldn’t have felt a two-by-four if someone slammed him in the face with it.

  He got to his feet and hobbled over to Althea’s black medical bag. This is foolish, he thought to himself. What kind of sick junkie am I? So desperate for a fix I’d go rootin’ around Althea’s bag? Besides, there’s no way—

  A quick search found the load of glass capsules in the side pocket. Viekko looked at them for a moment. It must be some kind of trap. Althea’s way of seeing if he was trustworthy. If he had any brains, he’d close the bag and lay back down.

  He took roughly half the pills and palmed them. He got back into bed and shoved the capsules under his pillow.

  Althea, he said to himself, I love you. I really do. But this thing ain’t over yet. And this may be a terrible thing to do, but I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to stay sharp. It might be the only thing that gets us both out of here alive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Global Revolution made allies of people across ethnic, religious, and national borders. Men and women fought shoulder-to-shoulder with ancient enemies against a much greater threat. It made for wonderful recruiting propaganda.

  But in the sparse records from the era, one thing becomes clear. These alliances were ones of convenience. And as soon as the Corporate threat was extinguished, hatreds going back to time immemorial would flare up with renewed vigor.

  -from The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe.

  This was, without a doubt, the most fractured military force in the history of warfare. Viekko stood on a wooden platform in the middle of a kind of training camp for Urbanoi warriors. Each faction brought about a hundred fighters and they were segregated on opposite sides of the field with a wide space between them. Looking out over the crowd, Viekko felt like he was about to preside over a blood wedding. On the right, the Urbanoi warriors with their long brown coats, clubs, and snares stood in neat, ordered lines. On the left, the Perfiduloi with their roughly sewn cloaks of animal fur gathered in odd little clumps.

  There were two translators standing by the stage waiting for Viekko to begin the briefing, each standing in front of their respective sides. Viekko nodded to each of them to indicate that he was ready to start.

  Cronus sat on the far right of the stage, fiddling with the metal device wrapped around his arm. Viekko turned to him. “Cronus, bring up the map.”

  Cronus raised his arm in the air and a holographic map of the area appeared in front of the crowd. They gasped at the display for a moment before Viekko began.

  He waved at the spot indicating the city. “Okay everyone. We are here. Our mission is to drive enemy forces away from the refineries, here.”

  Cronus closed his hand, adjusted the device on his arm and raised his hand again. A new map appeared showing a crooked line between the City and the refineries. Viekko continued, “We have discovered a set of maintenance tunnels that run in between Ligeia City and the refineries. Before the attack begins, Halifaco will lead Perfiduloi forces through those tunnels. They will enter the pyramid—”

  Several people on the Urbanoi side started yelling over the translators. Viekko stopped. “What the hell are they sayin'?”

  The translator turned and shrugged. “They say that pyramid is sacred. Perfiduloi defile it by being there.”

  Viekko removed his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Well, tell them that their sacred spot just happens to be right on top of a covert path to the refineries. This has got to happen to keep the outsiders from destroying the whole kharaasan world, so make peace with this now.”

  Viekko paused while the translator relayed the message. The people who spoke up didn’t look pleased with the response, but they kept it to themselves for now.

  Viekko continued. “Once the strike force is in position, the attack can commence.” The holographic map zoomed in to show just the refinery and the debris field in front. “Myself and Isra will lead the Urbanoi attack. You will take up fortified positions in front of the refineries. You will use those guns the Perfiduloi got and use them to draw out—”

  Viekko’s words were lost in another uproar, this time from the Perfiduloi side. Viekko stopped and glared at the people shouting. “What is it now?”

  The Perfiduloi translator looked up at Viekko. “They say those guns belong to them. They will not give them to those murdering—”

  A pitched screaming match cut off the translator's words. Both sides yelled and made rude gestures across the strip of grass separating them. Before things got out of hand, Viekko interrupted with a loud, shrill whistle. “Hey! Let me go ahead and end this debate right now. Those guns that you’re arguing about. They ain’t anyone’s. We brought them, they’re ours.” He pointed at the Perfiduloi. “You folk went and stole ‘em from us. Now we ain’t holdin’ a grudge, but the fact is that we are takin’ ‘em back and usin’ ‘em as we see fit. If you want our help to fight these bastards, that will be the end of that discussion.”

  Both sides, again, looked temporarily mollified. Viekko uttered a few Martian curses under his breath and continued. “One more time. Urbanoi draw out the soldiers. Once that happens, the Perfiduloi begin their attack. All you got is spears and arrows right now, and that will have to do. But as soon as you can, you pick up a gun from the first body you happen on. This attack should create enough chaos in the ranks of the enemy that they will be forced to fall back. Once that happens, the Urbanoi move forward and join the assault. Y’all shoot everythin’ wearin’ blue until we drive them to the sea.”

  Cronus closed his hand and the hologram disappeared. Viekko took a breath and stood with his arms akimbo. “All right, any questions?”

  The courtyard erupted in the cacophony of a hundred people trying to shout over each other. Viekko stood silent until the crowd quieted down enough for one of the translators, the one for the Urbanoi, to inform him on the general consensus. “My people want to know why the Urbanoi must attack from the front. It is dangerous and mor
e suited to the likes of Perfiduloi.”

  This created another uproar on the left. The translator jumped on stage. “See? See! This is why we should keep the weapons. What is to stop them from killing our people once they are no longer useful to them?”

  The Urbanoi translator rebuked, “We never have need for low people like Perfiduloi. The Venganto will save us during the eclipse—”

  At this point even the translators started screaming at each other in their native language. It was chaos; pure, distilled chaos. And Viekko had to lead it into battle.

  Viekko unholstered one of his guns and fired it into the air. The shot silenced the entire crowd. “This is the reality of the thing. The plan is the plan and there ain’t no arguin’ it. Your leaders, The Houston and Halifaco, already signed off on it, so that’s what is happenin’. Now y’all got some work to do, so I suggest you do it.”

  The translators finished their work and the crowd shuffled off with all the energy and enthusiasm of a child being sent to the corner.

  Viekko passed Cronus on his way off the stage. Cronus removed the device from his arm and beamed at Viekko, “I think that went well.”

  “Jaysus, Cronus.” groaned Viekko shaking his head, “I don’t know what Universe you live in, but help a fella with directions. It seems nicer there. Excuse me.”

  The Martian warrior walked off the stage and left the training grounds as the soldiers prepared for battle. He walked down the city streets for a few meters before slipping into a narrow alley. When he was sure he was alone, he removed a capsule from his coat and stuck it between his molars. He bit down and breathed in, letting the triple-T flood his brain. This operation was going to be a disaster, but at least he’d be good and sharp so he could watch it fall apart in vivid detail.

  Viekko crouched in the grass behind a massive boulder a few meters from the refineries. The last of the Urbanoi warriors settled in position behind a slab of stone and awaited orders.

  Isra crouched next to him, peering through the scope of a Peasant Gun. Viekko whispered, “See anyone?”

  “Just one. He is standing on a catwalk a few hundred meters back. He does not appear to have seen our approach.”

  Viekko sighed. That was a small miracle in and of itself. One of many that would be needed to pull off this assault, but a necessary one. Viekko put his fist in the air; a ready signal for the other squads. One by one, the appointed team leaders assembled behind various pieces of cover raised their fists in the air in confirmation.

  He dropped his fist and pulled up the sleeve on his jacket to activate the communicator on his EROS suit. Before they left, Cronus gave Halifaco a handset that linked into the network.

  “Halifaco?” asked Viekko. “Are you in position?”

  There was static and Halifaco’s voice. “We are. We wait for attack signal.”

  “It looks like we’re all ready. You got that guy in your sights?” whispered Viekko.

  “I do,” said Isra.

  “Drop ‘em.”

  Isra squeezed off a single shot. Somewhere far away there was a soft plop of a body hitting concrete from a long way up.

  Isra reset. “That worked. Two more marines are on the ground investigating.”

  Here it goes, thought Viekko to himself. No turnin’ back now. He took a deep breath. “Drop ‘em.”

  Isra squeezed off two more shots.

  Urgent yelling echoed off the metal inside the refinery. Isra squinted through the scope. “I see five of them now and more coming out every moment.”

  “Take down as many as you can,” said Viekko. He looked in both directions at the groups of Urbanoi warriors armed with peasant guns crouching behind rocks and blocks of concrete. Every one of them gripped their weapons with white-knuckle intensity. Their eyes darted back and forth from Viekko to the battle just beginning in front of them. He called out, “Stay calm. Wait for my signal.”

  Isra unloaded a couple more shots and the marines started shooting back. Within a few seconds, the air crackled with the sound of rifles firing and the high-pitched whine of bullets ricocheting against concrete.

  Isra knelt down against the block and switched the gun from sniper mode. She closed her eyes, took a couple deep breaths and said, “That did it. There are more than twenty now,” she said talking much faster than normal.

  Viekko nodded and waved his hat in the air. As soon as he did the air exploded with noise as every Urbanoi with a gun opened fire at once. The marines emerging from the refinery sought cover from the storm of bullets and several fell dead before they could find sense to react.

  Given the rate of fire and time to reload, Viekko estimated that they could sustain this assault for only a couple minutes. He activated the radio. “Halifaco! Now! Attack now!”

  Viekko turned off the transmitter and pulled his guns. Seconds ticked by. He peeked over a rock and fired a couple rounds. A marine crouching behind a pipe dropped backward. Nearby, an Urbanoi warrior fell backward howling in pain and clutching his collar bone.

  Viekko dropped down and Isra inched up to unload a burst of automatic fire. Then, she dropped back to reload. “Got three of them.”

  Viekko paused for a moment and peeked up over the rock. There was no change in the rate of fire from the other side, no sign of disruption. Despite the heavy casualties they were inflicting, there were nearly twice the number of marines assembled now as there were just a few minutes ago. It seemed like, for every one that dropped, three ran up to take their place. Viekko squeezed off a few wild shots before ducking back down to safety.

  Already, the battle was taking a distressing direction. Urbanoi fell at an alarming rate. A quarter or more were already dead or wounded. One position was already out of ammunition and cowering behind a boulder.

  Viekko took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He inched up and emptied his guns. Three advancing marines fell dead.

  Several more seconds went by and still nothing. Isra raised herself into a fire position, took a deep breath to steady her shaking hand and unloaded another burst of full-automatic fire. She dropped back down and ejected the magazine. “I am out of ammunition,” she said, throwing it away.

  Viekko looked at his EROS display. It had been a minute and a half and still no sign of Halifaco and the pincer attack.

  Maybe he had been delayed. Maybe that force ran straight into a marine ambush. Most likely, Halifaco realized that both of his enemies were about to slaughter each other and all he had to do was wait and pick the bones. Either way, it was over. More and more squads fell silent as they ran out of ammo and were pinned down by the marines.

  It was going to be a bloody retreat.

  Then, something changed. The constant barrage from the marine’s side dropped off and frantic yelling could be heard above the short bursts of gunfire.

  Viekko reloaded and peeked his head up. It was hard to see exactly what was happening in the thick mass of pipes and steel that was the refinery, but he could see enough. The left side of the marine line was nothing but chaos. He could see flashes of savage brutality as the Perfiduloi warriors attacked. They used spears, arrows; hell, he caught a glimpse of a man in a dark grey fur cloak caving a marine’s head in with a piece of pipe he found on the spot. As they picked up the fallen soldiers’ guns, the firefight continued from a new direction.

  Viekko got to his feet and waved his hat in the air. “This is it! Forward!”

  He and Isra scrambled over the boulder and charged at the refinery with the remaining Urbanoi force following close behind.

  The next several minutes were a blur of blood, horror, and violence as the Corporation line crumbled like a sand castle in a hurricane. They drove them all the way back to the Ligeia Mare and fought until the last survivors retreated to their ships and disappeared over the horizon.

  There was a celebration in the great hall of the palace. Perfiduloi and Urbanoi alike sat around large round tables eating mammoth meat and drinking fruit wines. T
here were so many packed so close together that servants with plates of food and drink had to squeeze between the chairs packed with veterans of the great battle. The Houston and Halifaco made a show of the newfound alliance between the two peoples at a small table in front of the ornate throne. Isra, Althea, Cronus, and Viekko sat around a slightly larger table off to the side; a place of honor in the victory celebration.

  The two leaders took turns raising a glass to the newfound cooperation of the Urbanoi and the Perfiduloi and to the forgiveness of all previous wrongs. On the surface, the whole party had an amicable feel to it, if not joyous. One without Isra’s sensitivity to emotions would see a pleasant gathering between two peoples who differed in almost every conceivable way. A tepid coming-together in the spirit of harmony, unity, or any other words that sound nice written in a speech and delivered by somebody with really good hair.

  But Isra could see the truth. It was in the muted conversation all around her. It was in the physical distance the Urbanoi and Perfiduloi kept from each other. And, in particular, it was in the eyes of two of the Houston’s soldiers in particular. Isra recognized them as Mikelo and Alisa, the two survivors of Viekko’s first attempt to take the city. They watched the proceedings with a burning resentment. It vibrated in the air like millions of rubber bands stretched to the breaking point. There was anger in this room. It was so thick and stifling that it made it hard to breathe. The Perfiduloi were angry at the Urbanoi for centuries of murder and slavery. The Urbanoi were angry at the Perfiduloi for their very existence and the rebellion was the greatest insult of all. Waves of fear washed over Isra’s skin and made her shiver. The rage made her bite down so hard her teeth hurt. The mistrust made her stomach turn so that she could barely get a bite of food down.

  Viekko didn’t have that trouble. He shoveled hunks of mammoth meat and roasted vegetables in his mouth at a rate that would choke most people. He was either oblivious to the mood in the room or, most likely, simply didn’t care at this point. Not enough, at least, to put him off his appetite.