Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  Speaking of drunken idiots, Viekko seemed perfectly at home. The fight at the arena was bad enough, but now he sat across from Althea with his new best friend Gabriel, retelling the story to a group of nine or ten young women.

  “I stand up again,” said Viekko, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet with his drink in hand. “Now, I tell myself there is no way any man can move that fast. Then, bam! I’m kissing dirt again! Haha! Didn’t see it coming!”

  Gabriel laughed, and so did the women. Viekko yelled in English, so there was no way those idiot girls knew what he was saying. They likely found something amusing in his struggle to remain upright.

  A thought crossed Althea’s mind that stunned her. She wished… as strange as it sounded, she wished Cronus was here. He wouldn’t be of any help, clearly, but there was a strange comfort in knowing that he would have hated this as much as she did. Instead, he managed to dodge this insufferable debacle. He had found his place, as did Viekko.

  It was at that moment, Althea felt the crushing loneliness of her situation. Viekko, currently engaged in a wobbly re-enactment of the last hour or so, seemed at home in the warm, soggy embrace of Cytherea. Cronus had Joana and the ancient secrets of the colony ship. Isra had her mission.

  Althea sighed. Maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe it was just stupid feelings of loneliness and rejection. Maybe it was just a different culture with different ways, and Althea was trying to impose her own morals on it.

  Isra leaned close and talked in her ear. “There is something wrong with this place.”

  Althea looked at the team leader, shrugged, took another drink of the hydromel and yelled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “I feel it too. I can’t quite pinpoint it. It’s not just the fact that they make children fight to prove themselves. It’s not just that the whole society seems built for war. There’s something else.”

  Isra nodded. “They are a militaristic people, nothing terribly strange about that, nothing inherently bad about it either. But there is something.” Isra directed a certain look at the Rainha. “She is planning something.”

  Althea touched her friend on the back. “Then we should go.”

  Isra shot her a confused look. “Why would we do that?”

  “You said it yourself, the Rainha is plotting something. She doesn’t want an alliance with Earth. I don’t know what she does want, but it’s not an alliance. We should go. We can resume talks over radio communications and maybe someday…”

  Isra took a long drink from her mug. “We are not leaving.”

  Althea paused and looked around the room. “You want to stay? Even if what you are trying to do is impossible?”

  Isra looked down into her drink and sighed. “There is nothing to go back to. If this mission fails…”

  Althea started to reply when the soldier beside her spun around to demand more wine. She swore as his elbow rammed into her side, and she was forced forward and spilled the mug of hydromel in front of her. Before she could even turn to curse the man, three servants arrived, wiped up the spill, and then refilled her mug and that of the drunken soldier.

  Althea leaned in close to Isra again. “But Isra… they will… suck you in if you stay here.”

  Isra glanced at her and smiled. “Suck me in?”

  Althea motioned to Viekko, who at this point was in the middle of some mad dance to the enjoyment of the ladies. “What about him? What about Cronus? I think that’s what this place does. It corrupts you; it appeals to all your base desires and strips you of everything else. They’ll get you too.”

  Isra shook her head. “It is not as if entrancing Cronus and Viekko is terribly difficult. They have old, forgotten technology for one and, for the other…”

  A high pitched scream drew both women’s attention. Viekko leaned way back on the bench laughing hysterically, with a woman perched on this lap, while one of the robed figures filled his drink. The way both Viekko and the woman wobbled made it clear that any second now, gravity was bound to take over. And it did. The woman shrieked as Viekko lost his balance entirely and they both ended up in an idiotic laughing heap on the floor.

  Isra downed the rest of her drink. “I think that will just about do it.” She stood up, paused for a moment, and then steadied herself on the table. Celia rushed over to her. “Is there anything you need?” she asked, enthusiastically.

  “Nothing. Just a good night’s sleep,” Isra replied, and still using the table for support, walked forward a few steps until she was in front of the Rainha. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she announced. “We shall return in the morning to discuss the future relationship between our world and yours.”

  Isabel nodded slightly. “There are rooms for you and Althea here in the Sala,” Celia added. “I will have an oculto show you the way.” She gestured to one of the robed figures.

  Isra raised her hand. “Thank you very much, but we have our own accommodations aboard the shuttle.”

  Isabel’s face took on a slight grimace and Celia, as if interpreting the look alone, said, “We will not hear of it. Women of Cytherea pride themselves in arte de lareira. A woman is judged by how she accommodates her guests. It would be a disgrace to the Rainha if you were not provided the finest the city has to offer.”

  Isra looked over at the giggling heap on the floor on the other side of the table. “What about him?”

  “I can make arrangements for him, but any Cytherean woman may offer her home and hearth to any man she chooses.” She paused and looked at Viekko and the woman attempting to get to her feet. “I believe he has options, do you not agree?”

  Althea watched two women haul Viekko the rest of the way up. “Well, they did manage to get him up without spilling his drink,” Althea noted sourly.

  “Speaking of which,” added Celia, “such fine guests as you should have company for the night, sim?”

  Before either Althea or Isra could mount an effective protest, the Rainha clapped her hands and announced to the crowd. “Nossos convidados de honra precisam de companhia esta noite. Quem está disposto?”

  The response was immediate. Althea could feel it in the push of the bodies around her. Several men shoved their way toward the front, and it radiated through the crowded hall like someone threw a handful of gravel into a pond. Upwards of thirty men appeared along the back on either side of Isabel within minutes. Althea suspected there would have been more if space along the wall didn’t run out.

  Isra’s eyes panned down the row of soldiers. “You are not suggesting…do these men not have…”

  “Their only loyalty is to Isabel,” Celia said, waving to the men assembled behind her. “And in serving you, they serve her. They will do with you or not as you wish. Isra, would you like to select one?”

  At first, Althea had to laugh. She had to admit that the men lined up were very… their bone structure was quite good; excellent facial symmetry as well. But this was Isra Jicarrio. Men in the Ministry tended to give her extra room when she walked the halls. There were rumors of course, but nothing substantiated and certainly not within her hearing.

  “That is very kind,” said Althea getting up. “But we really would be more comfortable aboard our shuttle. Isra, shall we go?”

  Isra didn’t respond at first but stared off into the distance. Althea touched her shoulder. “Isra? Shall we be off?”

  “Huh?” Isra apparently noticed Althea for the first time.

  Althea realized that Isra was staring at the men lined up on either side of the Rainha with a specific hunger, and she understood. Isra Jicarrio was still a woman. In the halls of the Ministry, there was still an implied weakness in this fact. A weakness she overcame by maintaining complete control of herself and everything else.

  But Isra was still a woman, still human; and the Rainha offered everything a human could want, without having to give up that control. Here Isra could give into certain urges, and the men in the halls of power couldn’t use it against her. Althea could feel it happening; the
y were pulling in Isra as well, and using the most improbable method.

  Fear washed over Althea, and she grabbed her friend. “Isra, you’re not considering?”

  “In a diplomatic situation such as this,” Isra said, with a slight slur in her voice, “it might be perceived as rude, and our own society’s governing ethics regarding human sexuality are not necessarily in play here. It could be within the mission’s interest to...” Her voice trailed off as her eyes panned the Coalition of the Willing.

  It was an obvious choice and, in a rare flash of perception, Althea knew what was about to happen before Isra did.

  “Well,” said Isra setting her mug down. “If you insist. I would not want to refuse the Rainha’s hospitality.”

  She walked toward the center, grabbed a tall dark-haired Cytherean by the tunic, and pulled him toward the door at the end of the hall, amidst cheers of hundreds. Celia laughed and shouted at one of the oculto to see to the couple’s accommodations.

  “Wow, okay, ladies! Whoo! Here we go!” Viekko slurred from across the table. Two Cytherean women, one under each arm, helped him to the door. “Now you gotta be gentle with me. This is my first time on Venus.”

  Then, all eyes in the hall were on Althea. Isabel smiled. There was haughty satisfaction in her face barely concealed behind false generosity.

  “You are welcome to one as well, Althea,” said Celia. “Take your pick.”

  Althea backed away at first. Then a flash of panic gripped her, and she turned and ran, pushing through the laughing, cheering crowds. She knocked over drunks and spilled trays of skewered meat. She ran away from this twisted world and escaped through the set of polished wooden doors into the streets of Cytherea.

  ****

  Althea ran through the courtyard lined with statues of Cytherea’s heroes and stopped at a fountain meters away from the Rainha’s palace. The sun was still out and moving on its achingly slow path toward the eastern horizon. The air was scorching hot. She reached down and scooped some water from the fountain and splashed her face. Everything was wrong here, and yet, she was the only one who could see it. Even the sun refused to move sensibly.

  She scooped another handful of water and splashed her face again. Everyone else had found their place; everyone else had found something within Cytherean society except for her. She was the only one who couldn’t even understand the language. She turned and sat down on the edge of the fountain. The problem was Viekko. Well, no, it wasn’t, the problem was with her. Viekko was just the catalyst.

  She had to admit that she was attracted to him in the same way stealing still thrilled her. That’s why she conned that kid into handing everything he had built over to her. That’s why she felt the need to celebrate with Viekko afterward. They both provided a sense of freedom; a feeling that she was above a society that crushed people like her under its boot. But she wasn’t, and she had already lost everything once to learn that lesson. Althea had to move on, it was the only decision left to her. Viekko should move on. In fact, Viekko was moving on. Maybe that’s what bothered her so much about Cytherea right now. It wasn’t that Viekko had found something here, it was that she hadn’t.

  She shook her head. No, there was something wrong with this place. Even Isra had noticed it before… well, before she didn’t. She ran her hand across the white stone that made up the base of the fountain. It was chalky and left a residue of white dust on her fingers. She washed it away, splashed more water on her face, and took a deep breath. It had been a long trip. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s sleep. In the morning she could look again and try to find that thing that was eating into her mind. She could try to figure out exactly what about Cytherea seemed so wrong. She just hoped that she could do it before everyone else was in too deep to see what she saw.

  She turned to go back to the Sala and nearly ran into a girl who appeared while she sat on the side of the fountain.

  “Er… pardon me,” said Althea.

  “Voce…,” the girl began. “Terra? Voce esta Terra? …Earth?”

  The woman was young, maybe late teens or early twenties with beautiful olive-colored skin and shining black hair that flowed around her shoulders. She was also very, very pregnant. Althea estimated it would only be a couple of weeks before she gave birth, if not days. It was also clear she was terrified of something.

  “Why, yes,” Althea said. “Earth. Yes, I’m from Earth.”

  “Ajude-me. Ajude-me!” The woman clasped Althea’s hands and pulled her close, staring into Althea’s eyes with terrible desperation.

  Althea looked around; the area was deserted and silent except for the chuckle of water from the fountain and the distant cheers of the Sala. And yet, the low, urgent way the woman spoke suggested that whatever she was afraid of was very close.

  “Okay, calm down. Sit, sit,” said Althea.

  She guided the young woman to sit on the side of the fountain, and Althea took her wrist in her hand to take her pulse. Her heart was racing, her hands were moist with a cold sweat and her blood pressure was probably through the roof. She needed to calm the woman first; this level of stress could endanger the baby.

  Althea looked the woman in the eye. “Please. Calm down. Calm. Calmaria, calmaria.” She didn’t know how or why that word appeared in her mind. Perhaps some of the language programming was taking hold after all.

  She took deep breaths, encouraging the woman to do the same, and after a few seconds, the pregnant woman seemed to regain control of herself. Meanwhile, Althea searched her brain for a way to ask what was wrong in the woman’s language.

  She thought about the phrase, ‘What is wrong.’ It felt like she was trying to remember some obscure medical fact that she learned in school but had never used since. Gradually, however, the Cytherean words formed in her mind. “Que…” Althea started, “O que… esta… errado?”

  The woman launched into a panicked, sobbing tirade. Althea strained to pick out the words but even with perfect command of the language, she probably couldn’t. She spoke too quickly, and her words came in between heaving sobs. She settled into one phrase that she repeated several times, “Vao levar o meu bebe! “Vao levar o meu bebe!”

  Althea squeezed the woman’s hand. “Listen. Calmaria. I don’t understand. Calmaria. I can’t understand what you are saying. Calmaria!”

  The woman wrenched her hands from Althea’s hold, jumped up, and ran off, away from the Sala. Her speed was incredible, especially given her condition.

  Althea stood to go after her when she heard a voice. “Rainha Isabel wishes to apologize.”

  Althea spun around to see Celia with her hands outstretched, in a gesture of apparent atonement.

  “Isabel did not mean offense,” the emissary continued. “It would bring her great joy if you would accept her offer of a room for the evening. Oculto will bring you anything you need.“

  “Uh, yes. Fine,” said Althea turning back. The pregnant woman had disappeared as if she never existed at all.

  Celia smiled. “Very good. Please come with me.”

  As she followed Celia back to the Sala, Althea turned the past few moments over in her mind. She could still hear the woman’s words repeating over and over again. “Vao levar o meu bebe!”

  The more she thought about the phrase, the more the words started to make sense. In the same way, she was gradually able to translate her words into Cytherean, the repeated phrase became familiar and then translatable.

  As they approached the massive doors of the Sala, a horrifying realization occurred to her. The woman was terrified, and the words she kept repeating were, “They are going to take my baby.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The bullet, a tiny railgun projectile fired from nearly five kilometers away, did not kill Diana Adriana that day, although many wished it had.

  She lost something in the attack. While her power and hold over her people were stronger than ever, she would re-emerge as a ruthless, authoritarian who demanded fanatical devotion and loyalty. Whil
e she once believed that a single voice of reason and compassion could relax the hold the global corporations had on the world, she now thought that nothing short of total war would be sufficient.

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

  Joana watched as the data she remembered as words, pictures, and numbers flickering on tiny screens took form and floated in the air in front of her. She reached out to touch an image of Cristo Redentor towering over the ancient Rio de Janeiro. It passed through her fingers as insubstantial as a flash of light.