Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  Then, nothing happened. The sound of battle still raged around him. The smell of smoke and blood was in the air, but he didn’t feel anything.

  Viekko opened his eyes and saw Gabriel’s grinning face.

  “You need more training,” said Gabriel, extending a hand.

  He pulled Viekko to his feet and muttered in English, “Wouldn’t have this problem if you folk would fight proper.”

  The battle was already at its latter stage. The Corsario that were still alive turned to run as the fight became hopeless. Cytherean soldiers threw their spears at the backs of those retreating. They held up their swords and cheered.

  Gabriel walked through the rabble of soldiers, clasping them on the shoulder. “They run! We have saved our city again, friends. You all fought with bravery on this day! There will be extra drink as we tell of our victory!”

  Viekko drew his sword and started walking. The other soldiers celebrated, and he hated them for it. It had been pure chance that he was not among the dead in the field. His life would have ended, and the only reason for it was to perpetuate the same cycle of death.

  Viekko turned to face the soldiers and yelled in Cytherean, “Cowards! You weak and stupid cowards!”

  The celebration ceased, and every soldier fixed Viekko with a look that said that they were going to finish the job the now dead Corsario failed to do. Gabriel stepped forward.” Viekko what do you…”

  “They turn and run, and you let them? They flee the fight, and you declare victory? Why? So more of you can die when they arrive again? So you can watch friends killed and farms burned?” Viekko waved his sword in the air. “Let’s follow them! Let’s end this fight! Let us show the others in the Sala what real victory looks like!”

  Viekko stood with his sword in the air for an awkward moment. The only sound was the crackle of the flames and the rustle of the wind through the grain. Expecting was the wrong word, but he had hoped that the other soldiers would cheer and rally behind him. But they mostly regarded him with an air of incomprehension.

  He started to get the sense that he would have to take on the entire platoon when Gabriel finally stepped forward. “Our friend from afar is correct. They flee, and we let them attack again! If you possess the courage and strength, there will not be another attack!”

  This time the soldiers responded as Viekko hoped they would have. They cheered, banged their spears and shields together and drew their swords.

  “Form up!” Gabriel called. “Front line! We run them down! To our death or theirs!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The one advantage the United States and corporate forces had was the global satellite network. This allowed them to track, with a high level of precision, the movements of the Brazilian military. One night, during the summer of 2099, ground-based operators suddenly, and without warning, lost contact with the entire network.

  Twenty-four hours later, United States forces were overwhelmed by artillery batteries from the West and warships from the East. These were battleships that were supposed to be parked and held in ports to the north and artillery batteries that hadn’t yet made their way from their strongholds in Brasilia. But, by cutting off the global satellite network, Brazil had effectively blinded her enemies and left them vulnerable to a surprise attack.

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

  Sweat poured from Viekko’s head, and his lungs felt like he was breathing from a blowtorch. Still, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive. Not since he was on Earth with Althea, at least. Not since his last dose of triple-T. Hell, maybe not since he left Mars.

  In the distance, he could see the crumbling pile of rubble that was the Modesto Wall, along with several dark figures struggling to make their way over it.

  Just as the Cytherean platoon neared the wall, Gabriel called for a halt. The order was so sudden and against all instinct that a few of the men, including Viekko, tripped over themselves trying to follow it.

  “I know this area,” said Gabriel. “There is a place that is too steep for armies to move. We can trap them on two sides and crush them between our shields.”

  Viekko panted as he watched the Corsario scramble over the wall and disappear through the mists ahead. “How do we get ahead of them?”

  Gabriel gave him a manic grin and called, “Renaldo! Take your squad and come with me. Abel! Lead the rest. Follow the Corsario as fast as you can.”

  The soldiers who were given orders spoke to their charges, and then they were off. The majority of the platoon climbed over the wall and disappeared in pursuit of the fleeing raiding party. Meanwhile, Gabriel led Viekko and a few men along the wall. They moved at nearly a full sprint for what seemed like an hour or more. Viekko ran until he was breathing white-hot razor blades and his muscles burned as hot as the air around them.

  Gabriel turned and led the squad over a particularly rough part of the wall and continued on. They ran until the land ahead of them seemed to disappear. Gabriel called for a halt. The squad stopped, and Viekko nearly fell to his knees, eager for a moment to catch his breath. As he panted, he looked around. There was nothing here. It looked like the land just ended, and the only thing ahead was the swirling mass of clouds that made up Venus’ atmosphere. Viekko crept to the edge and peered down a steep slope that disappeared into a thick haze.

  “Down there?” asked Viekko, between gasps for air.

  Gabriel smiled. “The raiders take the gradual way down. If we go straight, they will run into our swords.”

  Viekko glanced down the steep slope again. It would have been bad enough if it were just an incline of solid rock; if he lost his footing on terrain like that, he would simply break his neck and die on the fall to the bottom. But this slope was loose volcanic rock and dirt. It would be a damn miracle if he didn’t trip and tumble face-first down the hill and, if he did, the sharp pebbles and grains of sand would literally skin him alive.

  There was no way that Gabriel would take his men down a route like this on any other day. He was too good a soldier and far too good a leader to take a chance like that. Gabriel was out to prove something to Viekko. Maybe it was that the Cytherean army was up to the challenge of eliminating the Corsario threat. Maybe it was to test the honor and strength of his soldiers. Maybe, in the heat of battle and faced with a challenge, Gabriel had gone insane with excitement and hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences.

  But, before Viekko could say anything, Gabriel charged forward and started skidding down the face of the slope. Without a single word of protest or as much as a second’s hesitation, his men followed. Viekko, against the voice of better judgment screaming in his head, jumped after him.

  He felt the ground give way the moment he landed. Below him, Gabriel and the other soldiers disappeared in clouds of dust as they half slid, half ran down the slope. Viekko leaned forward and lengthened his stride and let gravity do the majority of the work. After a few seconds, he was in a full run and out of control. He felt the ground slip with every step. Each moment was another brush with disaster. He passed two soldiers who lost their footing and tumbled down the slope. They were nothing but a mass of dust, loose armor, limbs and equipment.

  Viekko’s feet hit solid rock. The change caused him to fall forward, and he tumbled across the ground. His sword and shield skidded across the hard-packed earth as he rolled to a stop. He’d made it to the bottom more or less intact. As he got up to pick up the equipment he had dropped, he saw one of the soldier’s lying on the ground holding a broken arm and screaming in pain. The soldier had lost his helmet, and his face was nothing but a smear of blood. Those he passed tumbling down the slope came to a rest on solid ground, moaning in pain. Every bit of exposed skin had been stripped away by the sharp, volcanic rocks.

  Gabriel shouted an order to those who were still standing. “Two lines. Across the path!”

  Viekko looked up. They were standing on a trail of hard rock cut into the side of the mounta
in. On one side, there was the steep slope that had just about killed them and, on the other side, was another that led farther down the mountain, which would probably finish the job. The Cythereans, those that could, lined up shoulder to shoulder until they spanned the entire width of the path. Again, Viekko stood behind the lines near Gabriel.

  As soon as they were in formation, Gabriel gave the order to march forward. As bad as the heat was farther up the mountain, it was a cool, refreshing breeze compared to this. The air at this elevation was a dry, roasting, stifling mass that practically sapped Viekko’s energy with every step. Each breath scorched the back of his throat. His heart raced and sweat soaked his body. It must have been equally bad for the rest of the men, but they didn’t show it.

  Viekko heard distant footsteps, and Gabriel called a halt. As one, the men in the line pointed their spears at the road ahead. The thick haze obscured everything beyond a hundred meters or so, but he could clearly hear the clattering and yells of the Corsario retreat ahead, and it got louder with every second. Viekko gripped his sword in anticipation. The tension was fantastic, as every soldier watched the road up the slope for the first glimpse of their enemy.

  At first, the Corsario were just vague, dark shapes in the mist. Soon, Viekko saw arms, legs and finally faces that twisted in horror as they realized they were running into a trap. The next few moments were bloody chaos. Some immediately turned and ran in a panic back the way they came; back toward the rest of Gabriel’s men still chasing them down the slope. A few jumped off the edge of the trail and took their chances sliding down the side of the mountain. Even fewer tried to attack the line. They were put down before they could get a single shot off from their primitive muskets.

  The majority realized immediately the terrible situation they were in and threw down their weapons. A few moments later, the rest of Gabriel’s platoon appeared out of the mists. The plan had worked. The Corsario were trapped in between Gabriel’s forces.

  The men cheered, and Viekko sounded a victory call with them, but when he took a closer look at who exactly they had trapped, the thrill of victory and the rush of combat drained from him. The people they had fought in the fields were warriors. Many were young, and they looked malnourished, but they were warriors. Trapped here, among the men cowering with their makeshift firearms were woman, small children, and elderly people barely able to lift the sacks of grain they carried on their backs.

  A horrific realization washed over Viekko. Corsario were vicious, but they fought to protect others behind the battle lines. While they were fighting in the fields, the others took what they could and fled. The warriors fought a battle they couldn’t win so the others might get away.

  Gabriel’s hand clamped down on Viekko’s shoulder. “Your plan is a success. We’ve never trapped so many Corsario like this.”

  Viekko didn’t answer. He just looked in the eyes and in the faces of the people being held at spear-point. There was a small boy, maybe eight years old, clutching a bag of grain with his eyes closed tight as tears washed tiny trails through the dirt on his face. There was an older boy behind him pointing one of the makeshift rifles. The muzzle shook as his eyes darted around, trying to determine where the attack would come from. He was armed, but he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Or maybe their small, malnourished bodies made them appear younger than they were.

  “What will you do with them now?” said Viekko.

  Gabriel laughed. “We will kill them, of course.”

  Viekko closed his eyes, knowing the answer before he asked it. “All of them?”

  “It is as you say. They will only return and kill more of us. Destroy more of our farms. We will drink as heroes for this.”

  Before Viekko could protest, Gabriel shouted an order and the slaughter began.

  Three soldiers closed in on the boy holding the gun. Before he could react, one grabbed the barrel while the other two ran their swords through his chest. Viekko heard a scream next to him, and he saw a soldier pulling a young girl of about ten from the crowd. The soldier spun her around so that she was facing the captive group and slit her throat.

  Battle was one thing. Viekko always respected the purity of combat. It could bring out some of the best qualities in people. Things like valor, honor, and bravery. Men would sacrifice themselves for their comrades or charge into battle one last time with a mortal wound. Above all, it was necessary. As long as there were those that exploited the weak, the highest calling of any person was to defend them or die trying.

  Viekko glanced back at Gabriel, who stood well back from the slaughter, watching his soldiers throw an old man to the ground and stab him in the neck. There was a look of smug pride on his face.

  Defend the weak or die trying.

  Viekko charged into the lines. He wedged himself in between two soldiers, turned to the Cytherean next to him and, without a word, jammed his short sword into the man’s rib cage. The soldier looked him in the eye with a mix of surprise and horror. He didn’t scream. He didn’t say anything. He simply looked as if he couldn’t believe he’d been stabbed by someone in his own line. A moment later, his eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground.

  The next man in line saw Viekko as he raised his sword again and turned to face him. The blow bounced off the soldier’s shield with a clang that could be heard even above the screams of slaughter. The soldier countered with a thrust. Viekko stepped to the right and slashed the man’s wrist. He screamed and dropped his sword as blood poured from the wound. Viekko finished the man off with a slash across the throat.

  That was two dead, but the element of surprise was lost as realization spread through the soldiery and the others started to converge on him. Viekko put his back to the raiders and got ready for a fight. Four Cythereans closed in with their swords raised.

  Somewhere far away, Gabriel shouted, “Viekko! What are you doing?!”

  The one on the far right attacked first. Viekko blocked his thrust just as another charged with his shield. Viekko braced against the attack and countered by swinging for the man’s legs. He felt his blade hit flesh and heard the man scream as he fell.

  More soldiers joined the fight every moment, and Viekko’s world became a blur of limbs, metal and blood. His muscles burned with each swing of his sword. Air came in short, tattered breaths. At this pace, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Of course, victory was never the goal in the first place.

  Hell, survival didn’t even factor into it.

  All that mattered was the fight. If Viekko died… well, at least this time, he fought for something; even if it was stupid, desperate, and misguided. Hopefully, that would be enough to allow Althea to forgive him.

  There was a scream, and a Cytherean charged, swinging his sword. The battle cry changed to gargling, and a spray of warm blood drenched Viekko’s face. He brought his sword around and thrust forward. He wasn’t sure who or what he would hit, but a sudden weight at the end of this blade told him he hit something.

  He tried to pull his weapon out of whatever or whomever he had it stuck into when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. At that moment, a loud pop and a blast of white light obscured everything around him. Then a scalding heat scorched his skin from his heart all the way to the top of his shoulder. He cried in pain as heat and some kind of electrical surge felt like it was ripping every muscle from his body. His sword and shield dropped from his hands. As fast as it happened, the electricity stopped, and he fell to his knees. Pain and exhaustion turned his world into a blur of dark shadows. He knelt there helpless, ready to take whatever happened next.

  Someone kicked him hard in the chest, and he rolled over onto his back. Then, somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of small explosions. He recognized it as gunfire from the Corsario.

  His little act of rebellion worked, the raiders were fighting their way out of the trap.

  Somewhere far away, Gabriel called for a retreat.

  It was the last sound Viekko heard.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The devastating loss of life and resources in Brazil signaled the official end to the United States Military domination that had persisted since the World Wars. Emboldened, small rebellions that had sprung up all over the world turned into full-blown revolts.

  The multinational corporations, now devoid of their champion, found that the best chance for survival meant taking up the fight themselves. The Corporation was originally formed to deal with the numerous threats to corporate hegemony, and the first problem on their list was Brazil.