Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  It all seemed like a disgusting lie after what happened last night. A kind of depraved spectacle to keep him and the rest of the population distracted so Isabel and her cronies could continue to commit atrocities.

  Still, he craved the distraction if only to cover the hollow, disconnected feeling that grew more intense as the night wore on. The fight with Gabriel in the amphitheater helped for a while. The thrill of unarmed combat, the warm embrace of military camaraderie, and the even warmer embrace of Cytherea’s women all provided the same rush he got when he was with Althea.

  Captain Colton’s words echoed in Viekko’s head once again. “You gotta do something that excites you, friend. You can't use another human as a substitute for the 'T'. Dropping it is all about freedom, and you can't be free if you force your dependency on another. Everyone says you'll be happy when you quit triple-T, but the truth is, you can't quit unless you’re happy.”

  What was he going to do? If Althea wasn’t going to let him into her life before, she certainly wasn’t now. And without Althea, the only thing he had was the ‘T’. And this place, he thought as he sat up in bed. It was all a constant stream of sex and violence to keep a population in the grip of a power-mad dictator. But, like them, he felt drawn to it. It made life simple, satisfying and, dare he say it, happy.

  There was a knock on the door. It was probably one of Gabriel’s men, sent to get him so he could go with them on patrol again today. He rolled out of bed and strapped the RX-5 to his chest. He might as well go along with it, after all. He told Isra that he would. It was the best chance to find out what the Rainha’s ultimate plan was.

  He pulled on his white pants, shirt and white khaki jacket. He slipped his hat on just as the person on the other side started knocking again.

  “Sim, sim,” said Viekko, opening the door. “Tell Gabriel I will be there…”

  Viekko looked down into the wide-eyed face of Cronus, who stared up at him. “You speak the words of Cytherea with ease now. You talk and hear as one of them. Have you become as them?”

  “Cronus I… I’m not even sure what that means,” said Viekko, shaking his head.

  He studied the little balding man for a moment. He had a look of terminal sleep deprivation at the best of times, but now the dark circles around his eyes seemed darker and heavier. He stood in the doorway as if every part of him weighed twice what it normally would, and even his skin looked like it was just hanging from a frame that it didn’t fit completely.

  “You all right, Cronus?” he said, hoping that he wouldn’t collapse right in front of him.

  “Working with Joana,” he said, weaving slightly.

  “All night?”

  Cronus pulled up his sleeve and activated his EROS. “Venus is on a completely different rotational period. Day and night cycles do not mean the same thing. The concept of night is…”

  “Have you slept at all in the past twenty-four hours?”

  Cronus looked up. “Not really, no.”

  Viekko pointed inside. “You wanna use my bed?”

  “More than anything.”

  Viekko moved aside so Cronus could enter. He went directly to the lumpy mattress mounted on the wooden frame and fell face-first into it. His entire body relaxed as every muscle released its tension in one blissful moment. Viekko gave him a knowing smile. “Joana workin’ you over pretty good, huh?”

  Cronus didn’t move. His voice was slightly muffled by the bed. “If you are referring to our productivity in repairing her ship and extracting the data hidden there, then yes. Her persistence is both inspiring and hard to duplicate.”

  “I wasn’t referring to that,” said Viekko grinning.

  “Then you must mean her sexual prowess. Unfortunately, I know nothing about that at the moment.”

  Viekko scratched the back of his head. “Funny. I could’ve sworn she was ready to mount you right there in the middle of the ship.”

  Cronus rolled onto his back. “I think I am doing something wrong.”

  “Jayzus, Cronus,” said Viekko, rubbing his temples. “Human interaction just ain’t your thing, is it?”

  “I think it should be easy. People have goals and wants and desires and work to pursue them. It should be a simple equation to use that line of reasoning to anticipate their thoughts and actions but…”

  “It never works, does it?”

  “It’s like a game where everyone else in the Universe was informed of the rules just before I arrived,” said Cronus, with a touch of desperation.

  Viekko picked up the sheathed sword and belt off a wood rack on the wall near the door and strapped it around his waist. “If it makes you feel any better, Cronus, it don’t strike me as an easy game for no one. Some are just better at fakin’ it than others.”

  “I wish… I wish that I knew how to fake it.”

  It’s easy, thought Viekko, you just take everything you know in your heart to be true, push it away, and then you continue to do the same thing you’ve always done. Because, if there is one thing people respect in a person, it’s consistency.

  Viekko took up the spear by the door and stopped. “It occurs to me, if the game ain’t workin’ in your favor, it’s time to make up your own rules. Get some sleep and go back up there. Tell Joana how you feel when you’re around her.”

  “When I think about her, I think that it would be nice if our tongues were like two wet cats fighting in a sack.”

  Viekko opened the door and paused. “Okay, never mind. Don’t be sayin’ that to her. Don’t be saying that to anyone. Man, I’m never going to get that image out of my head. Listen, just… tell her that you like her. Tell her you like her a lot. Maybe throw in the fact that you think that she’s beautiful and smart and…”

  Cronus sat up. “Her knowledge of pre-Fall cybertech systems should be the basis on which all other knowledge is measured?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Viekko, shaking his head. “If that kind of geeky foreplay works, go for it. Bottom line, if there’s something you want —something that’s gonna make you happy— you gotta just go for it. And to hell with the consequences.”

  Cronus lay back down. “Thank you, Viekko.”

  Viekko closed the door behind him and started walking down the hallway out of the Sala to meet Gabriel and his men. Failing happiness, there was always distraction. For the moment, that was the best Viekko could hope for.

  ****

  A couple hours later, Viekko marched with Gabriel at the head of a Cytherean platoon along the Modesto Wall. Gabriel’s soldiers marched in perfect step in the searing heat. Their bronze shields, polished to a mirror finish, reflected the light from the sun in blinding flashes whenever Viekko looked back at them. He didn’t see the laughing, smiling faces he came to know in the Sala over meat, wine, and women. There was no humanity left behind those helmets; they were just a mass of faceless shock troops. Nothing more than the physical embodiment of the Rainha’s power and the means of maintaining it forever.

  Gabriel pulled Viekko out of his private thoughts. “Everything okay, my friend? You are quiet this morning.”

  “I had a long night,” said Viekko.

  Gabriel smiled and touched his nose repeatedly in a kind of knowing gesture. “I warned you when you left the Sala with Lorena. She is very beautiful, but her bed is a Provacao all its own.”

  Viekko sighed as he remembered the evening that Althea interrupted by showing up with the child. So much had changed since then that it barely felt like the same night. “I had to leave that party early,” said Viekko. “Something important came up.”

  “What is it, Viekko? Nothing too serious, I hope.”

  Ah, what the hell, might as well bring it up. Gabriel seemed like a man who appreciated directness in others. “Althea followed the Rainha carrying a baby beyond the wall. She says she carried the child to a kind of altar, left it there and walked away.”

  Gabriel stared straight ahead and marched. Finally, Viekko added. “Do you have anything to say?”

&
nbsp; “What would you like me to say?” asked Gabriel.

  Viekko sighed. “I don’t know. Tell me she was mistaken. Tell me she saw the beginnings of some birth ritual. Tell me that Isabel wasn’t going to murder a child.”

  Gabriel didn’t flinch. He didn’t break step, and he didn’t look anywhere but directly in front of him. “Why hide what is true? Food is scarce. Dangerous forces surround the city at all times. We cannot feed and protect a person who cannot feed himself or protect others. I am not proud of it, but it is what must be done.”

  “So you’re okay with it?”

  “I am at peace.”

  “You ever have a kid killed like that?”

  For a moment, Gabriel didn’t speak, and the only sound was the rhythmic footsteps on the hard, baked ground. Viekko began to get worried that he had offended him when Gabriel said, “My first son was born sickly and deemed unworthy.”

  “And you feel nothing? Is there no love for anyone in this city?”

  Gabriel called for a halt. Viekko felt his gut twist. Maybe he hadn’t offended Gabriel before, but he sure as hell had now. The platoon stopped moving, and Viekko braced himself for a fight. Or maybe he’d just let Gabriel take a shot.

  The Cytherean Captain stepped in front of Viekko with his face inches away. “Do not mistake me. Raising the children is not my duty, but I care for them. I cried for that child, Viekko. I cried and, when I was done, I picked up my spear to defend the ones that still live.”

  Viekko looked in the man’s eyes. There was still a spark of humanity left. He could see that, and it brought a strange kind of comfort. Viekko couldn’t say where he stood anymore when it came to Cytherea, but as long as that spark still existed, he had an ally.

  “I’m sorry,” said Viekko.

  Gabriel relaxed and stepped back. “It is okay. I understand. The decisions we must make are sometimes terrible. But they must be made.”

  The moment was interrupted by the deep, hollow clang of alarm bells in the distance. Viekko turned toward the sound. “What is that?”

  “Corsario!” said Gabriel in a breathless voice. “A fight has come to us, Viekko. Will you join us in battle?”

  The bland ennui Viekko woke up with disappeared, replaced with pure adrenaline. His world became razor sharp as if someone dumped a load of triple-T into his veins.

  Viekko held up his shield and spear. “I’m ready.”

  Gabriel turned to the soldiers, called for a quick-march and they took off toward the sound of the bells.

  They arrived at a farm that was under attack a few kilometers from where they were patrolling. Viekko estimated they covered the distance in less than fifteen minutes; a stunning feat for a group of soldiers that size. Still, when they arrived at the farm, it looked like they were too late.

  Great billows of white smoke rose from burning fields of barley and wheat. A structure in the distance, probably the farmhouse, was completely engulfed in flames. It was so large that Viekko could feel the heat from it before he could see it.

  The platoon moved into a waist-high field of grain and Gabriel slowed them down. Viekko scanned the area looking for any sign of hostility, though he really didn’t have a solid idea of whom or what he was looking for.

  Gabriel pointed at some shadows in the distance. “Corsario! Front line!”

  The men of the platoon formed four shoulder-to-shoulder lines in front of Gabriel, and those in front held their shields together to form a single, unbroken barrier. The men behind thrust their spears forward to create a mobile spiked wall. Viekko started to join them, but Gabriel grabbed him and led him behind the line. “Stay next to me for now, friend. You do not know the maneuvers. But let your heart be happy. Watch. Learn. Your blade will taste blood before the end of the day. Forward, men!”

  At the order, the platoon started marching toward the shadowy figures in the distance. Through the smoke, they looked like apparitions; demons from his mother’s stories who came out at night to ruin the farmer’s crops.

  When they got closer, Viekko got his first look at the enemy that made the people of Cytherea live in fear. They were thin, wiry, and seemed to be built of nothing but bone and muscle, with hair matted into several long, thick dreadlocks. Their faces and bodies were painted with white clay, which made their eyes seem almost black by comparison. They appeared to Viekko savage, ruthless, and terrifying.

  Moving in a tight group like a pack of scavengers, most carried some sort of long metal pole with a nasty, barbed knife mounted to the edge. Still others carried small flaming torches and left a trail of fire and smoke in their wake.

  Gabriel called for the men to halt. The Corsario raised their strange weapons. He could see now that they were long, hollow poles with something smoking toward one end. It took a few moments for Viekko to realize what he was seeing. The Cythereans carried spears and swords and these raiders… they had guns. Not terribly effective guns, but guns nonetheless.

  Another order, the soldiers braced themselves and Gabriel crouched behind his men and Viekko did the same. There was a series of deafening explosions. After that, the sound of metal slamming against metal as the projectiles struck the shield wall. The spray of bullets knocked a few men, especially in the center of the line, off their feet. One or two men fell to the ground screaming in pain. The men behind dragged the wounded back and took their place at the front.

  The line of soldiers marched forward. The Corsario, seeing the invincible human wall in front of them, turned to run. A few tossed their flaming torches behind them, causing the dry grain field to catch fire. The platoon stopped when there was nothing ahead but flames, smoke, and figures retreating into the distance.

  Gabriel called to his men in front of him. “We must catch them! Sweep to the left and push them back to the wall! Move! Move!”

  The Captain’s order brought a flurry of chaos as men ran in every and all directions; there was no sound but the loud metal drumroll of armor on the move. Before Viekko could get a firm grasp on what was happening, he saw that there was a new line that faced directly left of where they had been before. This line was only one or two men deep and stretched twice as long.

  Gabriel ordered them forward, and they began to march in a long arc around the spreading flames. They moved in formation for a few minutes when the Captain of the Guard sensed something about the path ahead. He shouted for his men to slow down and be cautious. At nearly the same moment, without warning, a group of raiders popped up, giving Gabriel and Viekko barely time to dive to the ground before the thunderous crack of rifle fire.

  The men weren’t as ready this time, and about half of the soldiers on the front line fell backward. Gabriel jumped up and yelled, “Attack!” over the screams of his injured soldiers. He took up his spear and hurled it over the Cytherean line where it struck a Corsario in the chest. The soldiers on the front line yelled and surged forward to engage the enemy.

  Viekko rushed forward to join the battle. The neat line of soldiers fragmented as each one engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the Corsario. Viekko scanned the field, looking for his own fight. It didn’t take him long to find it.

  He locked eyes with a young man crouching with his head just above the waves of grain who bared his teeth like a cornered animal.

  For the briefest moment, Viekko relished the thrill of combat again. Nothing else mattered. Althea, Isra, Rainha Isabel, and the whole of Cytherea was nothing but background noise. The only people in the world at that moment were Viekko and this Corsario with streaks of white across his face and the barbed, primitive rifle in his hand. One of them was going to die, and Viekko’s only concern was to prevent it from being him. In a way, war simplified the world.

  He sprinted forward with his spear out in front of him. The man responded by jumping up and running at him. Viekko shifted his weight to block the attack with his shield which deflected the first blow with a bone-shaking clang of metal. But the attack pushed Viekko off balance, and he reeled backward.

  Befo
re he could steady himself again, the raider attacked with the butt of his weapon. Again, Viekko felt the crack of metal on metal, and he was again thrown backward.

  Viekko felt himself lose control of this fight and, out of desperation, he thrust his spear forward. The raider dodged the attack and struck the polearm with the barbed point of his bayonet. The spear splintered and forced the weapon out of Viekko’s hand.

  He tried to reach for his sword but the man already charged at him again. The weapon collided with his shield so hard that Viekko felt it painfully wrench his shoulder. The man struck again and again, each time causing Viekko to stumble backward. Each attack came so fast that the Martian warrior could do little more than brace for them until he lost his balance and fell onto his back.

  Viekko felt a brief moment of panic as he looked up at his opponent. The Corsario held the barbed bayonet ready to plunge it directly into his chest. There was not a trace of mercy in his eyes. Viekko could only look up into the face of the man about to kill him and, at that moment right before death, he thought about Althea. A paralyzing fear came with it. He’d always assumed he would die on a battlefield. Hell, there was a time that he hoped that would be the case. But he had also envisioned himself dying for something noble. As the raider started to move, Viekko closed his eyes, waiting for the lights to go out.