The Venusian complex manger is a fop with a glittering purple and gold uniform and hair coiffed into an elaborate pompadour. He’s the only Venusian not taken aback…either because he’s too professional, or because he’s an accomplice.
“May I help you…sir?” he asks with a strange combination of servility and arrogance.
“Yeah…someone left this in my room.” I throw the salamander’s corpse on the desk hard enough to crack the wood and spatter his uniform with its blood. “I didn’t order this, and I’d like to return it.”
That finally got through his carefully managed poise. “Ah…sir? I…uh…assure you that we had nothing to do with that.”
“Oh, my!” a woman behind me whispers.
“Forget it; I’m taken.”
She ignores me and caresses the scales of the dead salamander instead. “This is an original Enrico Vici!” she exclaims, delighted.
“A what?”
“An Enrico Vici. Only the finest designer salamander breed on Venus. Someone cared enough to send the very best.”
“I’m flattered…” I mutter.
“You should be.”
“Maybe next time they can just send flowers.”
“Oh, necromorphic lilies are far too uncertain. You know the saying…”
“No…and I don’t want to know!”
I hate this planet!
“Look.” I turn back to the manager and leave the woman with the salamander. Frankly, if we didn’t need it as evidence, she could keep the damn thing. “You set me up with a new room—now—or better, I’ll double up with someone on my team.” Frankly we should all do that, the better to keep an eye on each other. This place just became enemy territory as far as I’m concerned. I send the order for the change through my augments.
“I assure you, sir, you’ll be compensated…” the manager flutters.
“It’s not me, but the Jovian Republic you’ve insulted by letting this travesty occur,” I cut in. “Your full, complete, and enthusiastic cooperation with our security teams had better be forthcoming.”
I turn to go, then grab the dead salamander from the desk.
“Ohhhh!” the Venusian woman murmurs sadly.
“Sorry, ma’am, we’ll need to examine this.”
As I turn to leave, there’s an even bigger crowd in the lobby than before.
“I hope you’ve all enjoyed the show!” I shout.
They applaud. “Indeed!” one yells, “Hear! Hear!” another applauds, “Please come again!” another shouts.
The ambassador is certainly going to love this, and I don’t care. The next thing I need to do is check in with Intelligence and get debriefed…
* * *
Everyone stops to stare as I walk by…because of course they do. Nothing unusual to see here.
Sergeant Martin and two other Marines are escorting me, and they’re dead serious, in spite of the absurdity of the situation. Someone under their charge was attacked, and now that they’re armed and ready, they’re practically daring anyone to try it again. I’m sure they’ll give me all kinds of grief about what happened later on, but right now, they’re all business.
It took them less than a minute to arrive after everything that happened, and right now they’re making sure I get to the shuttle in one piece. It’s the one place on Venus we know hasn’t been compromised yet. Meanwhile, I feel dangerously exposed, in every possible meaning of the word, as we walk down the crowded hallways toward the shuttle bay.
Calls come in from everyone else in the squadron. I let them know I’m fine, and to be on the alert for anything. I doubly need to make sure Mad Dog doesn’t do anything to set things off and make them even worse.
Talon calls in, worried. “Sir? Are you all right…ah, I see.”
“Yeah,” I send back, “I’m banged up, but nothing crippling.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, sir. This would never have happened if I had been present.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were ordered to stay in the hangar, so you did. There was nothing you could do about it.”
“Still, your safety is my responsibility, sir. At the minimum, I recommend enhancing the security perimeter around your apartment.” Talon pops up a diagram of a series of interlocking defensive automated systems, deployed around my apartment. “I could dispatch a number of my SPGs under remote guidance, in surveillance and directed lethality modes…”
“Sorry, Talon, we can’t do that.” More people stare or giggle as we walk past. I can’t get to that shuttle fast enough. “If it were up to me, we’d have the Marines set out in a triple-layer perimeter, reinforced with SPGs and sentry guns, and then seal off the whole wing’s cyber-systems to our AI systems. But that’s “undiplomatic” or something. Still, I appreciate the thought.”
Coming up on the shuttle bay, and now, finally, the ambassador has gotten up from his mistress and noticed something is wrong and is calling me.
“Sir,” I reply to his flushed and angry face. You’d think he’d been wrestling with a salamander instead of the lovely Venusian native that’s still right there in the room! Security is clearly everything to this man.
“Vance!” he bellows. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
“Uh…” What do I say to that? “I’m disposing of the body of a hazardous lifeform, sir. These things are dangerous, and we can’t just leave them in the living quarters.”
“I mean why were you attacked?”
“Oh…” He’s actually going to ask that while someone who’s certainly a spy is right next to him? “Unknown, sir. Perhaps it’s a personal matter. I’ll debrief with Intelligence. Was your person insulted by this attack and do you wish me to issue a complaint?”
That got him to pause. Those words are related to public duels of honor on Venus. Now, I’m hoping he’s actually starting to do his job and think about what he’s saying in public, and what the deadly consequences can be for his life…and all of ours.
“Well…must you comport yourself in public in such a fashion?” he sputters.
I guess a genuine Enrico Vici isn’t high enough fashion. “Sir, with my quarters compromised, I’m following procedure by heading to the nearest secured location after an attack.”
“I mean…where’s your uniform?”
It went up in smoke, of course, but I can’t tell him that. “No excuses, sir.” I try to adjust the salamander to cover me more. Maybe if the head was here…no, that’s actually worse. How about the tail over here? No, no, no that’s even worse. It turns out there’s no way to wear just a salamander and not look indecent. “Shall I go back and get a uniform?” Not that I had a room anymore…
“No, no, no! Just…get this all taken care of!”
“Of course, sir. Sorry to disturb you.”
He cuts the line, and I finally get to the hangar bay. Talon is in full defensive mode, unracked with weapons ready. Anyone following me and expecting to cause trouble will now have an angry Cherubim, a squad of Marines, and the defensive systems of an assault shuttle to contend with.
For the first time since arriving on Venus, I feel safe again.
* * *
Of course we have to use the Marine shuttle for debriefing. There’s absolutely no other place on Venus we can be guaranteed that Venusian or other intelligence services haven’t already compromised everything with semi-sentient viruses or nanotechnology. Everything on this planet was probably already compromised when it was built.
Our shuttle, on the other hand, is filled with our best anti-intrusion technologies, since it was built to carry the ambassador…and carry out whatever clandestine mission the Intelligence Division is planning on, too. Then there are the Marines and automated sentries set up around the shuttle, and they aren’t letting anything through.
I’m meeting with Dale Shackleford from the Intelligence Division. My direct superior, Commander Rackham, is busy up in orbit, so I’m kind of on my own here. Also, Shackleford is technically with the diplomatic miss
ion, and since they’re nominally in charge of the ambassadorial mission, he’s in charge here—sort of—unless they deny the whole thing later.
I slam the salamander onto the floor, happy to be done with the thing at last.
“Is that a real Enrico Vici?” he asks.
Not again. “I guess so. Someone let it into my room while I was asleep. Which also means they were able to bypass all the security in my room and lock it down.”
“Looks like someone really wants you dead.”
This kind of insight must be why he’s a super-spy. “Yeah, it does.” I sigh. “So let’s get this fellow boxed up and sealed for our scientists to examine and make sure we can’t be overheard by whatever might still be active in it.”
We lock the thing up and get ready for the meeting. This can’t get done soon enough. I’m exhausted, and the chemical cocktail from my augments that’s kept me going all this time is leaving my system and letting me know all about the pain and damage that was covered up until now. After we’re done, I’m checking into the shuttle’s med bay for a patch up.
Finally, I get to sit down and begin my report in a proper fashion.
* * *
The meeting room is a virtual space set up by our encrypted tight-beam systems. The virtual room isn’t anything fancy, just a simple carpeted room with paneled walls, a shiny data-table, and smart cord weave adjustable chairs. Overhead are floating holographic displays of the various things we’re talking about, like the video of me and the salamander, which has now spread across Venus and is spreading throughout the solar system. Some of these transmissions may continue out into space forever, giving me a strange form of immortality via infamy. Perhaps some strange alien race will make their first discovery and impression of the human race based on this absurd image.
“So, who makes these…things?” I ask.
“House Dragon designs and grows salamanders, though there are a few discount knock-offs,” Shackleford replies. “This one was no knock-off, though; it’s a real…”
“I know—I know! Don’t remind me,” I mutter, still managing to feel my aches and pains through the virtual interface. Maybe it’s just memory, or maybe I’m hurt worse than I thought. I did turn off my medical alarms because they were constantly annoying me…
“So maybe House Dragon tried to kill me? It makes sense—they’re the war faction, and killing me gets them revenge for the Battle of Mars and maybe scuttles the peace treaty.”
“It’s possible, but it still could be anyone.” Shackleford pauses to access a new set of files, which pop up in the air around us. “House Dragon may make these things, but they’ll sell to anyone who can meet their price. It could be anyone with pockets deep enough to buy one of these. It could be House Dragon sending a message, or it could be that someone wants us to think it’s House Dragon.”
“Any chance we can find out who this beastie was sold to?”
“We can try, but there’s no guarantee. The Houses hold their records tightly, and secrecy, especially regarding clientele, is particularly important to them.” He pauses again. “Still, when we mention that this is an insult to Jupiter at large, we might get some results.”
There’s something else that’s been bugging me. “I don’t get why they used a salamander in the first place,” I bring up. “I mean, if they’re going to make an obvious and destructive move like this, why not just fire a plasma missile into my room and make sure?”
“It’s the Venusian way.” He shrugs. “An attack by a bomb or automation would be seen as an act of war and a breach of the host’s hospitality, but bioengineered creatures, poisons, nanotech, and the like are seen as just part of the game here. So this is either an attack by one of the Houses, or it’s been made to look like an attack from one of the Houses.”
“Great. Should I expect more attacks?”
“Probably.”
“Wonderful.” I sigh and then change the subject. “Did you review the full memory download of my conversation with that crazy princess?”
“Yes, thank you,” he answered without missing a beat. “There’s really nothing new there.”
“Oh well.” I had hoped that I might have helped there. Wait a minute! “Even that bit about Singularity? You knew that was going on and didn’t tell us?”
“Well, yes…there are things we can’t tell you, of course.”
I want to punch him so badly. It wouldn’t do any good in virtual, though it would be just as much a conduct violation as if it were in the real world, and I need Shackleford to deal with everything crazy going on. I’ve got all these good reasons not to punch him, and only one good reason to hit him—it would be very satisfying.
Instead, I tell him about the dream I had before waking up.
“So,” I conclude as I wrap up, “what do you think?”
“You could be going nuts.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I answer dryly. “Really, I’ve never had a dream quite like that. Do you think it’s anything funny in my system…or anything else?”
“Well…” He pauses to access some database I can’t see. “There are a couple of things it could be. It could be that some drugs, bio or nano, got through your system and messed with you some. There’s also Venusian meta-mnemonics: basically, subtle visual and audio recordings that trigger cascade effects in the neurology of the subject. You might have gotten some kind of computer virus in your augments. You could also have gotten some kind of psychic premonition…”
“You’re serious?”
He shrugs again. “All the major worlds have been pursuing research into the field, with varying results. The State of Terra reportedly had a few functional psychics at the end of the war. So yes, it’s possible…”
Wow…to think. All this time, could that have been going on?
“Do you think it’s likely I’m having these…uh…premonitions?”
“No. Most likely you’re going nuts.” He shakes his head. “Look, you’ve been under nearly constant attack, away from home, and now the Venusians are playing every mind game they’ve got on you. There’s bound to be some effects from all of that.”
“I’ll make sure to talk with my counselor after this is all over with.” And boy, is that going to be a weird session.
“If there’s nothing more, sir, I’d like to get into the medical coffin and have the auto-doc patch me up.”
“No, that will be all. Get yourself to med bay.”
I cut the transmission and stagger off to the shuttle’s medical coffin.
* * *
There’s no reason to actually go to sleep in the auto-doc, at least not for minor surgery like this.
The auto-doc is repairing my subdermal armor weave, as well as growing me a new skin to replace the one that was lacerated and burned. The corpsman monitoring the auto-doc outside gives me some quip about being more careful with Navy gear.
Ha, ha…he’s hilarious.
Other than the skin job, the main reason I’m sealed in the medical coffin is to doublecheck for contamination: poisons, biological and nanotechnology agents, and computer viruses. It hasn’t found any yet, but they want to be sure.
So I’m going to be sealed in the dark for a few more hours yet.
Even immobilized in here, I can access things though my augments. Sparky is running things while I’m in here, and they’re all in good hands with him. Still, it looks like everyone’s hopping mad, and there’s no telling what Mad Dog is going to do to the Venusians if I don’t get back out there. Right now, I feel like cheering him on, but we’re a diplomatic mission, so I need to get back out there to keep things cool.
I report to them all and let them know I’m OK. While I’m sending out messages, I also record a message for my family. No doubt they’re worried about me, and I’ll have to send a proper message with video later on.
Let’s see what’s coming up for later on. Hmmm…there’s this big sporting event I’m supposed to attend. The Cirque is supposed to be this big public arena where the
Venusians hold a cockfight with space monsters. Sometimes they even have spectators join in on the bloodbath.
Maybe I should stay in the infirmary and miss it. I’m sick of Venusian social engagements, sick of Venusians, and it seems like the only reason I’m here is as a show for the pageantry of the whole farce that’s taking place here.
Still, I’d better not skip it. For one thing, I don’t want to lay in the med bay when I could be doing something useful. For another, there’s no telling what trouble Mad Dog might get into. The main reason I don’t want to stay down is I don’t want those smug Venusians to think I’m down and out. I refuse to give them the satisfaction.
* * *
Finally, I’m back in proper quarters, which are comfortable, if ostentatious enough for an imperial potentate. I’m doubled up with Junior Lieutenant Abrams, much to his dismay. Everyone’s doubled up, partly to make sure what happened in my room doesn’t happen to any of us in isolation; if any of us are attacked at any time, someone else will be there to watch their back. This will also help keep us from getting into any more entanglements with the local Venusians, and there’s a lot of grumbling about that.
I should have done this in the first place. Letting us all get sucked into separate rooms on a world like Venus in the first place is my mistake, and it’s better to correct it late than not at all. It would have been better to do this in the first place; not only would I have had backup when I was attacked, but people wouldn’t feel like I was taking away something—as they do now.
Ah, well.
We’ve finally got decent security in our wing now. Marines are standing sentry in full power armor, and we’ve got sensor remotes set up in the neighboring sections. There were complaints, of course, but after allowing a killer monster into the guest quarters, their complaints didn’t have any substance. We’ve even got backup heavy weapons, munitions, and spare armor from the shuttle here, ready for use.
Cherubim Page 17
