The Venusian Gambit

by Michael J. Martinez

  Weatherby grabbed Finch by his shirt. “I don’t know, damn you! I don’t know! But you never gave me the choice, did you? No! You never sought my counsel! You never allowed me yours! Do you not see it? What might we have done together, years ago, had you but trusted me in the way I trusted you? We will never know! And now, because of you, I’ve broken all my oaths to King and Country so that we may make one final, impossible effort at stopping a war we may have already long ended!”

  Weatherby released Finch with a shove, and the latter man had no words with which to reply. Instead he stood, hurt and angry and dismayed, and the two stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

  Finally, the admiral spoke once more. “Due to illness, you are no longer my fleet alchemist. Philip, the Count St. Germain, has taken your position. You will be brought aboard Victory so that Philip may aid you in regaining your health. Do you understand me?”

  “I do,” Finch said, defeated.

  “Once aboard and once we are assured of your health once more, you will aid the Count and his duly appointed representatives, likely including the Lady Weatherby and Ambassador Vellusk, by telling them all you know of the book, and of the researches you have conducted with it. All of it, without omission. If I find you have withheld anything more at this juncture, I will court-martial you and, if you are found guilty, I will sentence you to hang upon the yardarm. I will do this by my own hand if need be. Do you really, truly understand me now?”

  An errant tear escaped Finch’s eye as he nodded. “I see you clearly, Tom. And I am truly sorry.”

  Weatherby shook his head. “I have chosen a life of service to England, Andrew. My life is pain, save for when I am ashore with my wife and daughter and step-son. Do not apologize to me. Think instead of those thousands who have perished defending England while you hid the book in your sea chest all this time. Think of what a wiser course of action may have done, and then make your apologies to the ghosts of the fallen.”

  Before Finch could respond, Weatherby turned on his heel and stalked out the door, nearly colliding with his daughter.

  “Father!” she said with a smile. “You must mind your step, lest you trample all before you. I—” Her kindly jibe immediately faded upon seeing his face. “My God, what is it?”

  Weatherby opened his mouth to speak, but a wave of sadness washed over him, and he could not find his voice. Seeing this, Elizabeth took his hand and guided him to the family’s sitting room, where she gently placed him upon a couch and sat next to him in silence, his hand remaining in hers.

  And there they sat for a long while, with silent tears streaming down Weatherby’s face, with only his daughter’s presence keeping him from a totality of gloom and anguish.

  CHAPTER 14

  January 26, 2135

  As it happened, Shaila hated being on a ship she wasn’t flying.

  Having been the pilot and second-in-command of Armstrong for a year, she found it oddly annoying not to have a ship’s holocontrols at her fingertips. She wasn’t even technically in the chain of command, since she and the rest of DAEDALUS were officially passengers aboard Hadfield as it zoomed toward Venus at maximum speed. Some kid named Baines was at the controls; Shaila had no idea who he was, and he looked way, way too young to be flying anything with wings, let alone a state-of-the-art mid-system ship like Hadfield.

  But Diaz had her seconded to DAEDALUS for “the extent of the current mission,” which meant that she was basically off the books as far as Joint Space Command was concerned. Shaila was kind of surprised at how quickly and efficiently Diaz had not just become the head of a completely black-ops program, but how she seemed to embody the role as if she were born for it. And maybe that was it, that Diaz was really the woman you wanted in charge when the shit hit the fan. Shaila thought so.

  But it was hard to have confidence in anything—in the pilot, in her boss—when there was just way too much unknown out there. Nobody was sure whether the Emerald Tablet would be of any use, or whether Stephane was truly out from under the influence of the Enceladan viruses. Nobody knew what the signal was from Tienlong to Greene and Huntington, though there were theories, and nobody could seem to find the two former DAEDALUS members. Diaz and Coogan seemed to have every national intelligence agency and private security contractor on Earth and the Moon looking for them, but they disappeared with an efficiency that was both startling and damned frustrating.

  They would be Earth’s problem anyway. Hadfield was going to Venus.

  Coogan and Chrys VanDerKamp spent most of their time trying to hack their way into the command-and-control functions of Chrys’ satellites, but Greene and Huntington had been extraordinarily thorough in their rewrites. Nearly all of Hadfield’s quantum computing power—and some heavy processing power borrowed from Earth as well—was thrown at the encryption used on the satellites, but not only were there multiple firewalls, but the team was beginning to get a sense that the sats’ underlying operating system had been extensively rewritten, and that the interface/symbology used to do it was completely different from anything ever written before.

  It was as if aliens had recoded the software in their language—which at this point was a distinct possibility.

  All this was incredibly worrisome, but Diaz had thankfully given Shaila a pretty big to-do item to keep her focused: Preparing both ship and team for the possibility of a second interdimensional incursion, this time on Venus instead of Mars.

  The hope was that the team could simply shut down the satellite array, even if they had to manually power down each bird—or just shoot it out of orbit. The latter wasn’t the ideal solution, since there were a couple of small research stations in orbit around the planet that probably wouldn’t like being pummeled with debris. But if it was a choice between evacuating the research stations or opening up a portal to another dimension—and possibly freeing more unfriendly alien life forms—the stations would be evacuated.

  Of course, there was the chance that Greene and Huntington would try to do something on the surface of Venus itself. Not impossible, but it would be extremely tricky. And it was up to Shaila to ensure the team could go planet-side if need be.

  Unlike Mars, with its light gravity, very low atmospheric pressure and cold temperatures, Venus was a fucking hellhole. The atmospheric pressure was 92 times that of Earth’s surface, and it had temperatures that could reach nearly 500 degrees Celsius at the equator. And even if you managed not to be crushed or fried the moment you entered the atmosphere, Venus’ gravity, 90 percent that of Earth, didn’t make it particularly easy to get around while carrying a bunch of life support.

  Oh, and you had to get through an upper atmosphere laden with sulfuric acid. Again, hellhole.

  Thankfully, the first few missions to Venus had come up with a solution: the Venus-Surface Exploration Vehicle, or V-SEV. And Shaila had to admit, they were pretty damn cool.

  The V-SEV looked like a four-meter tall robot. The torso was large enough for two people to sit, one in front of the other. The forward personnel would pilot the arms and legs of the vehicle during transit, allowing it to “walk” across the Venusian surface, while the rear personnel would be in charge of sensors and experiments, including the operation of the arms while at a standstill. The V-SEV boasted laser drills on both arms, as well as pincer-like hands that could take samples and either store them in a carrier or crush them for on-site analysis.

  The V-SEV’s ceramic-titanium composite shell allowed it to withstand both heat and pressure, and it was powered by a small fusion reactor attached to its back like a giant backpack. It had enough air and food storage aboard to last two days on the surface.

  Of course, getting onto—and off of—Venus was the trick, as most spacecraft couldn’t manage the planet’s harsh environment. That went for Hadfield as well. So the V-SEVs were dropped to the surface in one-use ceramic-composite capsules lined with a micron-thin layer of stainless steel to repel the sulfuric acid in the atmosphere. Once the capsule made it throug
h the upper and middle atmospheres, they were designed to crack and flake away at a particular temperature, leaving the V-SEVs exposed to the elements but ultimately in one piece. At the last moment, giant airbags deployed around them to cushion the final landing. These bags could only withstand the heat of Venus for about five minutes, after which they basically disintegrated, allowing the V-SEVs to begin roaming.

  Pickup was a little trickier. The mothership would drop booster rocket rigs into the upper atmosphere, attached once again to parachutes. Meanwhile, a carbon-ceramic cable would drop from the booster rigs to the Venusian surface, allowing the V-SEVs to grab them and attach them to the chassis. Once attached, the boosters would fire, launching out of the atmosphere and into orbit. Venus’ temperature and air pressure decreased substantially after a certain point, which made it no harder on the V-SEVs to rocket out of the atmosphere than to simply walk around on the surface. There would be some minor chassis damage to the V-SEVs due to the acid, but critical life-support systems would remain intact.

  There were six V-SEVs aboard Hadfield, and there was a squad of Marines busy training up on them en route to Venus. Shaila had always wanted to pilot one. Just not under these particular circumstances.

  “Why is it that every time I go to a new planet, fucking shit blows up?” she groused one day to Stephane.

  Of course, she immediately felt guilty for it. While Shaila still wore her radiation detector-slash-zapper on her neck, she was still part of DAEDALUS and given free rein aboard ship. Stephane was out of containment, but he was confined to quarters aboard Hadfield, even though he too wore the same device at the base of his skull. There had been some concern about bringing him along in the first place, but Diaz and Ayim felt that if he could provide any intel—either through the use of the Emerald Tablet or simply through the constant wrestling match he seemed to endure while keeping Rathemas at bay—it would be worth it.

  And yet he seemed to be holding up well. “Really, chéri, I was the one to blow up Enceladus. Not you,” Stephane said with a small, sad smile. “I didn’t want to, but…I guess I did.”

  “It wasn’t you,” Shaila insisted, taking his hand and kissing it. “It was that thing inside you. And I know Ayim’s working hard to get it out of you for good.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be out of me for good until this is all over,” Stephane said. “Do you know how Mars started changing slowly, starting with that earthquake three days before Weatherby showed up? I feel like that’s happening here. Something is…happening. I cannot say why I know this, but it is. Has there been any change on the surface of Venus?”

  Shaila shook her head. “No. We’re on it. If things cool down there, we’ll know about it. What do you think is happening?”

  Stephane shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Something. Some big thing. If I probe any more, I’m scared Rathemas will get a…what do you say…a foothold. His foot in the door. I need to keep him locked away. Do you understand? I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

  Shaila squeezed his hand. “You are. I get it. I mean, I can’t really get what you’ve been through, but I know you went through a lot. Whatever you have to do, you do it.”

  “I will,” he said, then stole a glance at the clock in his room. “I wish you could stay longer.”

  Shaila stood. “I know. ‘30-minute visits for now.’ Want to be sure you have a handle on things.”

  “I do. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “I believe you, honey. But I’m not in command. Diaz is. And that’s probably a good thing, you know?”

  “I suppose.” He gave her a smile and kissed her hand before releasing it. “When this is all done, you and I, we’re taking a very long vacation together. Someplace warm with no need for a lot of clothes, yes?”

  That’s my Stephane, she thought. “Deal. Rest up.”

  Shaila floated out of his quarters and into the corridor, propelling herself toward the lab section. Hadfield was designed for pretty much any short-term mission between Mars and Mercury, be it corporate, scientific or military. It could even run cargo in a pinch, but JSC would be pretty irked at such a petty use; that’s what contractors were for. Hadfield was as state-of-the-art as governments could afford, with engines that rivaled Armstrong’s for speed. Whatever mission JSC had left to it, at least beyond ferrying corporate exploitation teams around the inner Solar System, Hadfield was the ship for the job.

  It was but a few meters before Shaila arrived at the lab compartment, which despite the cramped quarters—it was roughly the size of an apartment kitchen—contained some of the best scientific gear around, and thanks to the gravity, on every available surface. Inside, Ayim was continuing to put the Emerald Tablet through its paces.

  “Ah, Commander! Don’t move!” Ayim said, holding a hand out to stop her at the door. He floated up toward the ceiling and a panel of holodisplays.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Shaila asked.

  “Nothing! Nothing at all. Now, if you would, please proceed one meter into the laboratory,” the scientist replied. “And then stay there.”

  With a smirk on her face, Shaila pushed herself through the door, then grabbed a handhold to arrest her momentum. “All right, I’ll bite. What are we doing to the Tablet today?”

  “Radiation testing, Commander. I’m trying a broad spectrum of radiation, some dangerous, some not, to see if there is any reaction. Your presence, as you know, can be an important variable in such an experiment. Very well, proceed another meter closer to the tablet.”

  Shaila did so, which quickly had Ayim frowning. “What is it?” she demanded.

  “There is nothing at all,” Ayim said, shaking his head. “It has become imperturbable. Ever since the experiment with Dr. Durand, it has been dormant. You aren’t experiencing any more auditory or visual stimuli, are you?”

  “Nice way of putting it. And no.”

  “Neither has Dr. Durand. In fact, his brainwave activity has stabilized to a very large degree, even in sleep.”

  Shaila’s ears pricked up. “So he’s clear, then? That thing is out of him?”

  “Oh, no! No, that isn’t the case at all,” Ayim said with a chuckle. Then he saw Shaila’s face, and immediately straightened up as best he could in zero-g. “Right. Terribly sorry. No, his brainwave patterns aren’t normal. He has a great degree of increased activity in his parietal lobe and there is still trace amounts of Cherenkov radiation coming from somewhere within his neural pathways. He is most assuredly still under some kind of external influence, since we cannot pinpoint a source for this activity. Yet I would say that he is better. He reports no issues sleeping, nor any instances of any interference with his conscious thinking.”

  “So Rathemas is as dormant as the Tablet,” Shaila said simply. “I don’t like it.”

  “Now, Commander, I still find it difficult to ascribe names and consciousness to whatever has affected Dr. Durand, but—”

  Shaila held up her hand to silence him; they’d had this conversation already while aboard. “It has a name because it’s real. Because I’ve seen one like it.”

  “Yes, of course. Apologies, Commander,” Ayim said primly. “Was there something you required?”

  “I need to assess whether it’s safe for Stephane to land on Venus if we need him down there. V-SEV co-pilot only, no controls.”

  Ayim’s eyes bugged out. “I would recommend strongly against that, Commander! There is no way of telling how an extradimensional incursion would affect him. Perhaps he might remain dormant, but perhaps the energies there and his proximity to them…well, I simply cannot say. Even in your experience, there is no precedence for this!”

  Shaila nodded. “Kind of what I thought, then. Send that formal recommendation to Diaz and CC myself on it. Best be on the record about such things.” Before Ayim could respond further, Shaila turned and left the lab.

  Having Stephane planet-side was, of course, a really bad idea, but she wondered if it might also be the last piece of the puzzle. S
he had her own pet theories, of course, regarding quantum entanglement and place—completely untested and uninformed, of course—that made her wonder whether having her and Stephane together on Venus might trigger something positive. Perhaps she or Stephane, or both of them, might garner insights into the aliens’ goals or motives, or perhaps he might communicate the way Shaila seemed to chat with Andrew Finch from the other side.

  Or maybe Rathemas would take over once more and everything would go to hell. Hard to say. The worst was that she knew she was potentially using the man she loved as a guinea pig. No matter what the stakes, that wasn’t easy. She figured Stephane would agree, because that’s the kind of man he was. But shit…it wasn’t easy. As for Diaz, well, Shaila hadn’t really told her yet. The general would probably shoot it down anyway, but one battle at a time.

  “Commander Jain, report to CIC at once. Repeat, Commander Jain to CIC at once.”

  Shaila tabbed the comm on her datapad even as she propelled herself back down the corridor. “Acknowledged.” It was a bit superfluous, as she was in the CIC within fifteen seconds, but military habits die hard.

  She saw Diaz and Coogan looking at the large holodisplay in the middle of the room. “Looks like we got some company, Jain,” the general said. “Got a ship behind us, just spotted on short-range sensors. Our course was supposed to take us well away from all the pre-registered flight plans. It’ll overtake us in about ten minutes, which is pretty impressive. Trying to ID now. Jimmy, what we got?”

  Coogan flicked a file from his datapad to the holodisplay, where a list of missions and vehicles appeared. “Three potentials here, General, depending on flight path and orbitals: A Virgin Galactic tour with 37 passengers, a Russian cargo ship en route to the Stanford University orbital outpost, or a Chinese something-or-other they don’t care to tell us about, as usual. I’ve sent out comms to all three to confirm where their ships are, but it’ll take a few minutes to get back to us. I’ve also pinged the bogey; no response.”