The Venusian Gambit

by Michael J. Martinez

  Weatherby turned to Diaz. “It seems a sound plan. Are you comfortable with sharing command with Lieutenant Cook, Madam General?”

  Diaz raised an eyebrow at Weatherby and turned toward the obviously green lieutenant who had inherited command from his deceased superiors. “What’s your name again, Lieutenant?”

  The young man, who looked barely out of his teens, straightened up and looked Diaz in the eye. “Lieutenant Samuel Cook, my Lady.”

  “You understand, Lieutenant Cook, that this plan maximizes our assets and relies on coordination, and that your admiral here endorses it?” she asked in her best no-nonsense tone.

  “Yes, my Lady,” Cook replied, slightly nervous now.

  “All right then. I hope you take my suggestions under immediate advisement and decide quickly as to the merits. And you can just call me ‘General,’ since I’ve been fighting wars and commanding men for a good three-plus decades. We clear?”

  “Quite so, General,” the young man said, saluting for good measure and seeming to be extraordinarily uncomfortable now.

  Diaz turned to Weatherby. “I think we’re good.”

  Weatherby could not help but smile. “So you shall have all our soldiers and cannon. Lieutenant St. Germain will remain at the gun so he may provide as much support as possible. If it is quite all right with you, I would ask that Elizabeth be placed inside your second vehicle, which I believe would be the safest place for her during the engagement.”

  “Agreed. We can rig a speaker, too, so she can call out commands to the Venusians when the time’s right for them to pounce,” Diaz added. “She can keep her headset so she and I can chat beforehand.”

  “Very well. I entrust her to your safekeeping. I…” Weatherby paused. “Well, I am sure I need not say more.”

  This prompted a rare smile from Diaz. “I’ll take care of her as if she were my own, Admiral.”

  Weatherby cleared his throat and regained his composure. “I thank you, General. And so that leaves the Lady Weatherby and Dr. Finch to accompany me into the pyramid, along with Gar’uk. I assume Commander Jain and Dr. Durand will be joining us?”

  Shaila nodded. “We have the Emerald Tablet in a secure container. I assume we’ll want to bring The Book of the Dead as well.”

  Finch looked alarmed at this. “Do we think it wise? Can we not secure them elsewhere? We’ve no idea what we may find below.”

  Weatherby turned to Anne, who simply shrugged. “On the other hand, if these artifacts are the key to stopping whatever Cagliostro and Althotas have planned, we may miss a singular opportunity. It is an incredible risk either way,” she said.

  Stephane stepped forward, his eyes somewhat glassy. “She’s right. Rathemas wants both these items. And he wants to be down there, but…I feel as though he’s afraid. That we’ve come further than he expected, maybe. That we’ll figure it out, whatever ‘it’ is. I think we should bring the book and tablet.

  Weatherby hung his head for several moments before finally looking up at his companions. “Very well. We shall bring them. Anne, my love, you must carry the book, for I do not think it wise for either Finch or myself to carry it. I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a small, sad smile. “We all have our burdens in this, Tom. I am glad to take it now.”

  He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before chaining his emotions once more and simply nodding at her. “Yes, very well then. Commander, I suggest you carry the Tablet. We will need you to keep a weather eye upon Dr. Durand as well. I will find two men we might bring with us for support. But that will have to do.”

  Weatherby stood straight. “Thank you, all of you. We have much to attend to. General, if you please, begin your preparations. Everyone else, with me.

  “And God save us all.”

  CHAPTER 25

  January 30, 2135

  May 29, 1809

  Shaila entered the pyramid through a decrepit, crumbling portal lined with inscrutable carvings. She expected to traverse a long corridor before getting into the center chamber, like the old pyramids of Egypt she visited as a schoolchild. Or the one on Mars, for that matter.

  So when, after only five meters, she entered into a vaulted space—the hollow interior of the pyramid, buttressed and soaring—she gasped. It was as if the entire pyramid was hollowed out or inverted, with each outside step visible on the inside. An intricate network of buttresses kept the space free and clear, and there were some breathtakingly beautiful carvings—each several meters high—on many of the inverted steps.

  “Who the hell built this?” she breathed. “It’s incredible!”

  “Likely the Xan,” Finch replied, holding a lit torch aloft. “This is beyond the construction the Royal Geographic Society has documented on Mars. A shame the French were the first Earthmen to gain access here.”

  Gar’uk clambered ahead with another torch, providing more light. The very top seemed to be open to the sky and covered by some form of cupola, bathing the grey stone in an overall greenish light. “Yes, from long ago,” he croaked. “When the others were here, when they brought war to our lands.”

  Stephane stumbled as he entered the room, then cast his eyes higher. “Yes, the Venusians…they were part of the war long ago.”

  Shaila turned back to him. “Stephane?”

  He gave her a little smile. “Sorry. I saw a little of that when the lizard-people were examining me. It was…weird. But I could see the Martians and the Xan. They used the Venusians. Warriors, or slaves. Probably both.”

  Weatherby and Anne entered last, with his two marines before him. “All quite interesting, no doubt, but I think it best that we try to find entrance to whichever part of this structure the Venusians have claimed for their memory vault. Conduct a search for anything in the walls and floor that may lead downward.”

  The group spread out in the cavernous room. There were few structures inside, though the rather large altarpiece in the front—easily two meters high, now cracked and crumbling in the middle—definitely stood out. It was on a dais, and seemed to be the obvious place. Shaila and Stephane made their way over to it, with Finch in tow.

  “This looks somewhat similar to what I saw in Egypt,” Finch said. “There was a trapdoor under the altar. Perhaps?”

  The alchemist climbed the stairs to the altar and began searching around the base of it. Shaila could see more runes and sigils on it; unlike the carvings on Mars, there were no real images or pictures she could make out, though the stone was pretty weathered. She looked up to find that the altar was right above the opening atop the pyramid, and figured millennia of rain had a lot to do with the altar’s erosion.

  “Yes! Here!” Finch called. “A small opening—even the Venusians would have to crouch down to enter!”

  Shaila and Stephane came up behind him and saw a small hole in the ground, no more than a half-meter in diameter. It was surrounded by crumbled stones of various sizes. “Tight fit,” she said, pulling out her datapad and activating sensors. “Looks like it widens out a bit down there, but we don’t have a lot of leeway.”

  Stephane pointed to the floor of the dais. “These are footprints, no? This must be the place. The French have been here.”

  “All right then. Looks like we do the squeeze,” Shaila said.

  Weatherby had Gar’uk go first, armed with a pistol to hold off any potential trouble while the rest of the group made their way inside. It took a few tries for Shaila to get through there with the Emerald Tablet in tow, but she managed to drag it behind her as she squeezed through a space about three meters long, sharply sloping downward behind the altar and dais.

  And she ended up in a corridor no more than a meter and a half high. “I’m going to get claustrophobic quick,” she muttered, using her datapad as a flashlight to help with her footing. Stephane nearly collided with her on his way down, but soon everyone was huddled in the small, rough-hewn hallway.

  “Onward,” Weatherby ordered quietly. “Weapons at the ready.”

  Shai
la drew a pistol, loaned by one of the marines above, and followed Gar’uk down the corridor. The stonework was very rough and looked to be hand-carved. There were no runes or features of any kind. She figured it was done by the Venusians after the Xan left—for whatever reasons they left in the first place.

  After about forty meters of winding, gently sloping corridor, Gar’uk hissed and raised a claw. They all stopped, and the little Venusian pointed ahead. “I hear.”

  A low hum seemed to permeate the walls at this point, though the source couldn’t be placed. Likewise, there seemed to be a faint light coming from ahead, though to Shaila it was barely discernible—it felt like a trick of the eyes. But she figured Gar’uk probably had better vision. At least, it seemed reasonable to presume that.

  Shaila turned back toward Weatherby. “Plan?” she whispered.

  “Gar’uk shall move ahead and provide us with reconnaissance,” Weatherby said. “The rest of us shall prepare for the worst. Finch, you and Lady Anne shall provide us with alchemical means of either distraction or subdual, while the rest of us ready ourselves for battle if need be.”

  It took the little Venusian little more than a few minutes to scurry forward and report back. There were but three men in the chamber—two older gentleman and a French officer. Unfortunately, there were also a dozen Corps Éternel soldiers therein.

  “Very well, then. I assume a typical working to simply stun adversaries will not be effective against the revenants?” Weatherby asked Anne.

  It was Finch who responded, however. “Typically, yes, but I believe I can create an admixture that would have the same effect on the revenants without harming the living. If I can have but a moment, I—”

  The admiral cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No, Doctor. Your workings with regard to revenants and your other researches are part and parcel of this. We shall not meddle in these matters any longer. Lady Anne?”

  Looking perplexed, she looked at both Weatherby and Finch. “I do not know whether this proposed working will actually touch upon the forces of Maat as others have,” she said slowly. “Perhaps there is merit to this. If Dr. Finch may take a moment to explain—”

  “No!” Weatherby hissed. “I will not chance it. Prepare an alchemical fog, then, that will mask only the doorway. Then we attack. Make ready.”

  Finch turned to Shaila with a helpless look, but all she could do was shrug. It was obvious at this point that Finch had used up whatever trust Weatherby had in him, but she was far from being an expert on 19th century alchemy. Instead, she drew her pistol and motioned for Stephane to stay put. There were at least eleven combatants in the room ahead, and only Weatherby, Shaila and the two marines were armed.

  That is, until she saw Anne produce a sword as well. Shaila was about to speak up when she remembered Anne’s skill from their battles on Mars. Hell, she’s probably better with it than I am.

  With Weatherby in the lead, the group proceeded quietly down the corridor. They started to hear some voices ahead, echoing off the stone walls. Finally, Weatherby put his hand up to stop the group. The room was right around the bend. The admiral extended his hand, and Finch placed a small cloth satchel in it. With a quick scan of his troops, Weatherby then hurled it around the corner. With a soft plop and a hiss, smoke started edging upward into the corridor.

  “Now!” he hissed.

  Shaila allowed the marines and Anne to move past her—she only had one real shot, and was mindful of Weatherby’s warning about the Tablet. She had no doubt the guys inside would love to nab it if they could. So she edged forward as the sound of cries and steel rang out from behind the curtain of white fog.

  “Arrêté! Corps, arrêté!”

  What the…?

  She turned back toward Stephane, who looked equally confused as the sounds of combat ceased. The French had ordered their Corps Éternel to stop fighting.

  Motioning for Stephane to stay put, Shaila hugged the wall of the low corridor and poked her head into the fog. It took a moment for her to find the very edge of the alchemical effect, but when she did, she saw Weatherby, Anne and the marines pointing muskets and swords at two men, while the zombie soldiers were literally frozen in mid-strike. And they were all in the middle of one of the strangest chambers Shaila had ever seen.

  The room was a kind of rough tunnel extending at least forty meters out. The top of the arc was easily six meters high and wide, and the walls seemed to be of the same rough-hewn make as the hallway. But lining those walls were shelves made of sticks and logs, lashed together by what looked like vines.

  And on the shelves were glowing silver orbs.

  Each sphere was no larger than a baseball, but seemed to have a variable light inside it, as if a twinkling star could be seen up close. They were kept several rows deep on each shelf—and each wall was stacked with at least 30 shelves. They extended down both walls…all the way to the end of the room.

  There were tens of thousands of them—perhaps more. Perhaps millions.

  About six meters from the doorway was a circle on the floor made of piled stone, rising about a half-meter from the floor. Shaila could see a dull, silvery liquid inside. And on either side of it stood two men. One was tall and heavy set, with a florid, long face and swept-back grey hair. He wore the clothes of an early 19th century gentlemen, well embroidered and shiny where appropriate. The other was much older, clad all in black, with a wreath of white, unkempt hair around the crown of his head. His face was wide and full and heavily wrinkled, and his eyes were slightly bulbous.

  Even though he had aged thirty years, Shaila would never fail to recognize Cagliostro, the man who nearly started an alien invasion of the Solar System.

  Naturally, she felt pretty good about pointing her pistol at him.

  “Given that the Lady Anne Weatherby is with you, I can only assume you are Admiral Lord Weatherby,” the first man said in accented English. “I pray you, lower your weapons! We have much to discuss and precious little time to do so.”

  Weatherby was not in the mood to acquiesce. “And I can only assume you are Jean-Claude Berthollet, so you’ll forgive me if my weapons remain as they are, for it was your men who attacked my fleet in the Void yesterday and again, mere hours ago, in the jungles here!”

  Another man stepped forward from where the Corps Éternel had halted. The man was tall and mostly bald, and wore the most ornate military uniform Shaila had ever seen. “Those were on my orders, my Lord Admiral, as there is a state of war between England and France,” the man said. “I am, however, open to a truce between our local forces while Dr. Berthollet explains our…situation.”

  “And you are?” Weatherby demanded.

  “Louis-Nicolas Davout, Duke of Auerstädt, Marshal of the Empire and servant to His Imperial Majesty, Napoleon.”

  Shaila saw a look of surprise on Weatherby’s face—the Frenchman had to be a major player in the Napoleonic Wars. “The last we had heard, you were in London,” Weatherby ventured. “It is no doubt highly significant that you are here, your Grace.” He finally lowered his sword. “For the moment, we are in a state of truce, but only within this room. We will discuss the present situation, and then, if there can be no accord, you may revive your accursed soldiers and we shall see who prevails.”

  Davout smirked. “A fine plan, my Lord.” The marshal then barked out several rapid orders in French, at which the zombies animated and returned to at-ease positions on either side of the doorway, a kind of macabre honor guard.

  Then Shaila noticed Cagliostro staring at her, and realized she was still pointing a gun at him. Reluctantly, she lowered it—but he kept staring.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You…you’re from the other realm, are you not?” Cagliostro asked in his Italian-accented English. “I saw you on Mars!”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I was there. Commander Shaila Jain. We stopped your ass from unleashing Althotas on the world. We should’ve hauled you back to our ‘realm’ and put you on trial f
or war crimes and attempted genocide.”

  Cagliostro he turned to Berthollet. “Dear God, it is happening again, Berthollet! They are here! I warned you this was possible! They have meddled in these matters a second time and created another convergence! It is just as Althotas would have wished!”

  Berthollet frowned at Shaila, then turned to Weatherby. “Before we can begin negotiations in earnest, Lord Weatherby, I should wish to know why you would take such a hazardous and irresponsible step by creating another convergence!”

  At this, Anne practically lunged toward Berthollet. “You know full well that we did not do this!” she countered. “It is you who unleashed The Book of the Dead into the world and created these fell soldiers. And with each one you create, the space between worlds gets smaller!”

  Weatherby shook his head. “Please! Wait, my love, I beg you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off violently, but nonetheless stopped for the moment as he continued. “You’re saying that you have not created a convergence, and I swear upon my honor that we have not done so ourselves.”

  “So you say, but is it true that Andrew Finch possesses The Book of the Dead?” Berthollet asked. “For I have seen his workings of late, and they would be nigh impossible without it.”

  Finch stepped forward. “Yes, I have the book. And yes, I have used a modicum of its power, as you have,” he said, standing tall but contrite. “It is possible—though still not proven—that our use of these powers, yours and mine, may have weakened the border between worlds. We come seeking the truth of the matter.”

  “Yes, yes, we’re well aware of this possibility,” Berthollet said with a dismissive wave. “But that in and of itself cannot create a convergence. It would take either the alchemical essences of the Known Worlds—which were destroyed with Althotas on Mars—or a combination of The Book of the Dead and the Emerald Tablet. That is why we are here, you fools. The Venusians were there when Althotas created those fell artifacts, and they were there when he was banished to the world between worlds.”