The Venusian Gambit

by Michael J. Martinez

  “Account for it? Well, I…hang on…now that you mention it…no. There’s a discrepancy between what’s coming off the satellites and what’s emanating from the location below. There’s extra energy there which can’t be sourced. What the hell is that about?”

  “Classified for now,” Diaz snapped. “Just keep us posted if you see any change there.”

  “Well, it is growing,” Rios responded. “About a kilometer a minute. In roughly 16 Earth-days, the whole planet will be covered. Oh, and there’s another ship down there. I mean, a real ship. A spaceship.”

  That got Shaila’s attention. “Did it identify?”

  “No, but transponder said it was a Virgin Galactic shuttle. It arrived before everything hit the fan, settled into a high orbit, then decided to break orbit a few hours ago. Flew right into the affected geological area. We think it may have landed. Sending you coordinates now. Looks to be maybe 30 to 40 kilometers from your location.”

  “There you go. Thought that was it. Stanford, sending you encryption key now. Let’s keep all future communications just between us, all right?” Shaila said.

  “And avoid contact with the Virgin craft at all costs. Attempt no search and rescue. We need you guys to stay put up there and be our eyes,” Diaz added.

  “Understood, General. No comms except you, no EVA. Any estimate on when we might get things put back together?” Rios asked, a plaintive sound in his voice.

  “Anywhere between now and never, inclusive,” Diaz deadpanned. “Hang in there. Diaz and Jain out.”

  Shaila killed the long-range comms. “Do we try to split off and investigate the Virgin ship?” she asked.

  “Negative. We’re playing the negotiation card here with the little guys. Let’s not mess with that. And open up comms so we can update Admiral Weatherby here, who’s starting to look at me cross-eyed.”

  The two officers updated Weatherby, who agreed that an attempt to check out the Virgin ship would only anger the Venusians. They had to play the situation out before making their next move, and that meant going to wherever the Venusians were taking them.

  As it happened, their destination was a small village, set into a picturesque clearing, surrounded by verdant trees and colorful undergrowth. The buildings were made of mud-brick and thatch, with doors barely a meter and a half high and open windows a half-meter wide, but large enough to hold a generously sized Venusian family, given their small statures. The village seemed, by Venusian standards, to be a relatively new affair, for the undergrowth between the neatly made buildings was trampled down but not worn away. A large fire-pit dominated the center of the village.

  When Weatherby asked Elizabeth, she confirmed his thoughts. “When several tribes gather, they often create a village in a neutral territory where their elders can meet. This is done to debate matters of great import to the tribes—and the arrival of the French might certainly qualify, Father,” she said. “Oh, and yes, there are Va’hak’ri here! I recognize that fellow’s beadwork as such. That may help us, given your history with them.”

  “One can only hope,” Weatherby replied. “I wonder if we might even see a few of the creatures we encountered back in ’79.”

  Unfortunately, it was too much to ask. Turned out that the current chief of the Va’hak’ri tribe was the grandson of the creature Weatherby and Finch encountered thirty years prior—Shaila remembered it from Weatherby’s transdimensional journal, found on Mars during the Daedalus incident. But like the warrior on the beach, the chief—who had a headdress half his own height and enough necklaces to make a Mardi Gras attendee blush—seemed to know Weatherby and Finch. Unfortunately, he didn’t know English, leaving Elizabeth to translate.

  “We are welcomed, but the elder says these are dark times, and only Weatherby and his companions would be given such honor. And yes, I’ve already told him the honor is truly ours, and a number of other ritual greetings I’m sure you’d wish to make properly, Father.”

  Weatherby nodded. “Thank you, my dear. Once the pleasantries are completed, do ask whether they have encountered the French, and inquire as to the safety of their memory vault and other ritualized areas, if you please.”

  After a flurry of Venusian grunts and grumbles—truly, Weatherby could not understand how Elizabeth managed such expertise with the language—it was discovered that the French had indeed been in contact, in the person of Berthollet and a small escort of troops, all hale and healthy humans. There was no sign of Cagliostro, nor of any Corps Éternel soldiers—and Elizabeth reported that the Venusians appeared greatly agitated at the mention of either.

  “So they have not been fully apprised of the French numbers here,” Anne mused. “Not surprising, really. I should think they would have a great cultural aversion to the walking dead, given their near worship of Nature itself.”

  “I think most folks have a good solid aversion to zombies,” Diaz quipped. “Question is, where are Berthollet and the French now?”

  After more discussion and translation, it was determined that the French had set up shop about 20 kilometers to the south and east, near a wide river that then led out into the ocean. It wasn’t near any Spanish or Dutch outposts, and it was close enough to water for the French to make a run for it as needed.

  They had also been seen in a clearing about 20 kilometers directly east—in between the Va’hak’ri village and one of their memory vault sites. “Their scouts say the vault itself is watched but remains untouched,” Elizabeth said. “The clearing, I believe, is the one Gar’uk discussed before, in that it is a highly defensible place, a vale between two large mountains, with a wide meadow therein.”

  Weatherby’s eyes narrowed as he studied a Royal Geographic Society map of the area. “There really is nothing stopping the French from taking the vault,” he muttered. “What are they waiting on?”

  “Looks to me like they’re defending it,” Shaila said from inside her mech. “I managed to patch into the Stanford sensors, got a good picture of the area, even some life-signs there. Not detecting anything beyond that clearing.”

  Weatherby turned to Anne and Finch. “Do you think they have already obtained what they have come for?” he asked.

  Finch shrugged. “It may take them several days, perhaps even weeks, to conduct the experiments necessary to take full advantage of the Venusian alchemy inside those vaults. They may simply wish to deny them to us, or perhaps they are still engaged inside, and need the soldiers to watch their backs. And before you ask, yes, I fully believe Berthollet and Cagliostro could enter the memory vaults without anyone the wiser, with all due respect to the Venusians and their abilities.”

  Weatherby straightened up. “We must proceed forward and, with the Venusians’ help, take the clearing and the vaults from the French. Only then can we bring the Tablet and Book there, and figure out what fell plot the French have concocted with Althotas this time. Elizabeth, please convey this to them.”

  She did, but to Weatherby’s great surprise, he received nothing but a terse decline, followed by several questions on the part of the Venusians.

  “They have no wish to become embroiled in our quarrels,” Elizabeth explained. “More importantly, though with respect to you, Father, they wish to know why you have brought two…oh, I am struggling with the interpretation here. I suppose the closest I can get is ‘alien warrior outsiders.’”

  Weatherby cast around, looking at the people with him, as did Diaz. “You think he means me and Durand, Miss Weatherby?” Diaz asked.

  “Dr. Durand, yes. But not you. They mean Dr. Durand…and Uncle Andrew.”

  Weatherby turned to Finch. “You and your thrice-damned research,” he said, angry and tired. “What have you done now?”

  Finch raised his hands and backed up slightly. “I promise you, I’ve no idea,” he said. “Obviously, there is something they can detect as it relates to The Book of the Dead. Perhaps if we showed them?”

  “Um, negative on that,” Diaz snapped. “If we have two of the biggest s
acred whatsits in the universe with us, we don’t go bragging. Obviously, something in that book has rubbed off on you, Dr. Finch. And I’m starting to wonder if it’s on par with what we’re seeing out of Dr. Durand here.”

  Listening to the conversation over her comm, Shaila was beginning to wish she could jump out of the V-SEV and drag Stephane back inside with her. Instead, she switched over to a private channel with him. “How are you doing, honey?”

  “I am…struggling a little, yes?” he replied quietly, whispering over the channel. “Rathemas doesn’t like this. He’s impatient to get past this. Afraid of something. I don’t know what.”

  “Can you keep him down?” Shaila asked.

  “So long as these lizard-people don’t do something strange, I think so. But I’d like to hurry this up,” he replied.

  Meantime, Diaz and Weatherby were busy arguing with Finch, until finally Weatherby raised his hand. “Enough of this! General Diaz, would you submit Dr. Durand for examination by the Venusians? Perhaps they may find something to help him.”

  “You going to guarantee they won’t spear him in the face, Admiral?” she replied, hands on her hips.

  Weatherby’s brow wrinkled. “You know I cannot. But I shall order Dr. Finch to undergo the same examination. They may be satisfied by this, and more importantly, they may be inclined to assist afterward.”

  Finch opened his mouth to object—and Anne seemed pretty willing to question her husband on it, too—but one look from Weatherby silenced them both. The admiral then turned to Stephane, and grabbed Finch’s arm to drag him over as well. “I cannot, I realize, actually order either of you to submit yourselves to the Venusians so we may answer their questions—or even have some of our questions answered regarding whatever has ailed you both. But I will ask it of you freely, and pray you agree.”

  Stephane didn’t hesitate. “I want this thing out of me. Maybe they can do it, yes? I will let them see me.”

  Finch was less convinced. “Tom, I swear to you on thirty years of friendship, I am not afflicted by my research in any way. But…for the greater good, yes, they can look me over, for all the good it will do them.”

  Once decided, and translated for the Venusians, the chieftain and one of their shamans took Stephane and Finch away. To Shaila’s consternation, Stephane was forced to leave his headset behind, so she was just as much in the dark as the rest of them. Surrounded by a half-dozen warriors, the two men were taken into a long, low hut at the center of the village.

  “They say they will strive to understand why the alien darkness is with our friends, and whether they can be saved,” Elizabeth translated. “If they cannot somehow improve them, well…I am quite afraid as to their fates, Father.”

  “So am I,” Shaila chimed in. “Permission to get down there, General Diaz.”

  “Sorry, Jain. Need you to stay put. If the Venusians decide not to let you back in, we’re out a major advantage. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a sharp eye out for him,” she replied.

  And so they waited. And waited more. The Sun slipped below the horizon, leaving a greenish glow in its wake, until finally the clouds formed a dense, dark gloom above the jungle. A surprising number of plants had phosphorescent qualities to them, and the Venusians seemed to gather these up and use them for lighting inside their huts. Outside, bonfires and torches lent an eerie quality to the proceedings, and made the little lizard warriors seem scarier and more formidable than they might’ve been otherwise.

  Finally, as the dinner hour neared, Stephane and Finch emerged from the hut. Actually, they were shoved out the door, and marched angrily toward Weatherby and the others at spearpoint.

  “What is the meaning of this treatment?” Weatherby demanded, casting around for Elizabeth to translate. “Why do you handle my friends in such a manner?”

  “Jain, heat up your drills in case this gets ugly,” Diaz said quietly over the comm.

  “Bringing laser drills online,” Shaila replied. “With pleasure.”

  The Venusian warriors shoved Stephane and Finch into the central part of the village once more, and with a final push, sent them to the ground at Weatherby’s feet. Meanwhile, the elder and his shaman rushed up, gesticulating and shouting in stream of croaks and squawks.

  “They claim we have brought evil to their land, and want nothing more to do with us,” Elizabeth reported. “Out of respect for Father’s past deeds, we will not be slain, but we must leave this place, and never set foot upon Venus again while Doctors Finch and Durand are among us. I assume they mean while they are so afflicted.”

  Stephane, meanwhile, shook his head and seemed to be coming out of a daze or trance, while Finch simply looked put out. “They have no conception,” he muttered. “They wish to stick their heads in the sand and be done with us.”

  “They were there!” added Stephane, who was wild-eyed, pasty and drawn as he staggered toward Diaz. “They were there and they saw what happened, yet they do nothing!”

  Diaz caught Stephane and helped prop him up. “Both of you, shut up and report. Thirty seconds. Go.”

  Finch opened his mouth but hesitated, whereas Stephane knew the drill. “They know that Rathemas is inside me. While their shaman did his…something, ritual, whatever…we saw what happened back on Mars long ago, when the Xan attacked. Althotas ripped the souls from his own followers and hid them elsewhere. The Venusians know I have one of the souls, and they believe Finch is the…doorway? Corridor? Conduit! Yes, conduit.”

  Finch shook his head dismissively. “I am not possessed by any power, so how can I be the conduit? It is folly.”

  Beside Weatherby, Anne gasped suddenly. “Oh, Lord. I see it now. Oh, Finch, I see what you’ve done!”

  Hands on his hips, Finch turned on Anne. “What, then? What have I done, except to further Mankind’s knowledge of the Great Work beyond even that of your late husband, then? Tell me, for everyone thinks I’m naught but a criminal in this!”

  “Not a criminal, but a fool, and a damned fool besides,” she replied, spitting the words. “You entered Maat every time you employed a working that used knowledge gleaned from The Book of the Dead. That underworld was, in part, where the souls Althotas ripped from his followers were stored! So you, over the years, have been chipping away at that opening, just as surely as Berthollet has in animating his legions. In fact, you yourself have traveled through Maat in order to speed yourself and our ships through time and space!”

  “And you have placed me within reach of it as well,” Weatherby added, realization dawning on him. “Dear God, Finch, I am complicit in this as well!”

  Finch started to argue the point, then stopped. “Oh…I see it. Dear God in Heaven, I see the connection now,” he whispered. A moment later, his knees gave way and he tumbled onto the ground.

  “Yes!” Stephane cried out. “You’re the doorway, and Rathemas wants to use both of us to walk through! Only here, on Venus, where it’s overlapped, can he do this now!”

  Anne looked up at Weatherby. “I fear we have walked straight into whatever Althotas’ plans are. And the Venusians are too scared to help us put things right.”

  Weatherby surveyed the lizard-men before him with growing agitation. “Then we must do it without them, damn them to Hell.”

  Elizabeth stepped over to him. “Father, please. Allow me to stay and argue for us. If we act without their support, all chance of alliance, now and in the future, will be lost!”

  “And what do I care?” Weatherby thundered. “They prefer to cower in the trees while the fate of the Known World hangs in the balance! Meanwhile, Cagliostro and Berthollet have their precious memory vaults. There are renegades from the future running about transforming Venus, and the warlord Althotas is nigh! We must assault the French and put an end to this—now!”

  Tears welled in his daughter’s eyes. “Please, Father. I wish to stay. I can try to make them see reason. I have performed the dul’kat and they cannot harm me now because of it.”

  Weatherby cast around, fr
ustrated, then laid eyes on Philip. “Lieutenant St. Germain. You will remain here with your stepsister. If they so much as lift a finger toward either of you, I command you to secure her safely and make for the beach with all haste. Do you understand?”

  Stunned at Weatherby’s anger, Philip could only nod as his stepfather turned on his heel and stalked off away from the village, a collection of 19th and 22nd century compatriots looking after him in confusion and concern.

  CHAPTER 22

  January 30, 2135

  May 29, 1809

  Weatherby stalked the beach impatiently, waiting for men and matériel to be brought by boat to shore. He had not slept and had eaten very little since the morning, and could see that all around him were shying away from him and his anger.

  Except for Shaila Jain.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Shaila said. “She’s a super-smart kid.”

  Weatherby waved his hand. “I’ve no doubt as to Elizabeth’s safety at this point. The Venusians are a primitive sort, but the honor of the Va’hak’ri is not in question. And I’ve great faith in Philip as well. Should the Venusians seek vengeance after we engage the French, I dare say he is quite capable of removing her from harm.”

  At this Shaila looked troubled. “Hadn’t thought of that. She checked in over the comm about an hour ago. All’s well, but she’s still getting stonewalled. You want one of us to go get her?”

  “No, Lieutenant Commander. I’ve no doubt the French will meet us on the field with superior numbers. It is likely they have spies within the Venusian camps. All of the European powers have links to the various tribes the Venusians have assembled. When we take the field, I believe your mechanisms will be critical to winning the day. I suggest you ensure the Emerald Tablet is secure aboard one of your machines. And please ask General Diaz to ready them. I hope to leave in an hour’s time.”

  Shaila looked rather unconvinced, but nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  As she walked off, Weatherby looked on after her. It would not be seemly in His Majesty’s Navy for a lieutenant—or lieutenant commander, which was a wholly unusual rank—to speak so frankly to an admiral. Yet he found himself thrown back in time to when he was a mere lieutenant, and she was the elder of the two. Furthermore, she was not technically under his command, and although he could press the matter, for she was indeed of the Royal Navy of some place and time, he felt it a losing cause.