The Venusian Gambit

by Michael J. Martinez

  There were more than enough losing causes to be had, it seemed.

  A fresh-faced lieutenant approached and saluted smartly. “We’ve emptied the ships of marines and have supplemented their ranks with able seamen, my Lord Admiral,” the man said—what was his name? Weatherby could not recall.

  “Cannon?” Weatherby asked.

  “If you wish to depart forthwith, my Lord, there will be but eight, along with their crews. Any more would require dispatching the boats another time, and loading them has proven to be more difficult than anticipated.”

  “It will have to do,” Weatherby said. “Prepare the men and cannon to break camp and march as soon as possible.”

  The young man saluted and ran off, leaving Weatherby feeling old and unsuited to the task ahead. His exhaustion weighed heavily upon him, for it was well past midnight now, and they would not reach the clearing and the French lines until after dawn. Gar’uk had brought coffee from Victory to fortify him, but even his favorite beverage seemed only to add to his nerves rather than his wakefulness.

  “You are frustrated, my friend,” sang Vellusk, who somehow had managed to come up behind Weatherby unnoticed, despite his prodigious height.

  Weatherby turned and did his best to be diplomatic, knowing what a premium the Xan placed on manners. “I am, my wise friend. I apologize. In most of the battles I have fought on behalf of my King and Country, my goals were very clear. And even on Mars, we knew full well that we had to interrupt Althotas’ ritual, and had the means to do so. But here…here, our course takes us off the map.”

  Vellusk nodded as he began to walk alongside Weatherby. “I should like to say something wise and helpful here, but I am most aggrieved that I am unable to do so,” he sang. “I have consulted with the Lady Weatherby and Doctors Finch and Durand regarding the Emerald Tablet and The Book of the Dead. There are, of course, a variety of ways in which they might be used in conjunction with the memory vault, but I feel as though we are missing something. We are unable to say for certain what the French plan may be.”

  “And what if we destroy them?” Weatherby asked. “Be done with it. Would that not stymie the French?”

  “I would advise against it,” Vellusk sang, notes of concern and sorrow in his melodies. “We discussed this as well, but what if their loss is the edge the French seek? Or General Diaz’ former colleagues, for that matter? Without knowing, such a course would be rash indeed, and very possibly fatal.”

  “They could be the key to Althotas’ masterstroke,” Weatherby countered.

  “Or the key to his undoing,” Vellusk sang.

  Weatherby slumped a bit. “You are, of course, quite right. And I’ve no doubt the impulse to destroy these items stems simply from my desire to be done with all this.”

  The admiral kicked an errant stone across the beach in frustration.

  “You are a wise man, Thomas,” Vellusk sang. “Much wiser than some of my compatriots, I am afraid. We have worked hard to ensure that the partisans among us—those for whom the ways of war are welcome—are being dealt with. And we have given your Wellesley some small aid that should nonetheless turn the tide against the foul revenants. But when it comes to this battle, I must leave it in your hands. We Xan have our own conflicts to resolve amongst ourselves. And with that, I shall take the Lady Anne’s advice and depart.” The Xan then laughed, which sounded like wind chimes upon a spring breeze. “Besides, if you are indeed marching into battle, even if I wished to march with you, I shall be quite useless.”

  Weatherby’s first instinct was to insist otherwise, but he quickly realized that it was merely the truth; Vellusk was the product of a pacifist society, and he really would be in the way. So he simply thanked the ambassador for his counsel yet again, and managed to extract himself from the Xan’s ritualized farewells in just short of five minutes, which likely was a record of some sort.

  Just as Vellusk departed, Weatherby’s attention was drawn to the northern edge of the beach, where one of the bipedal mechanical beasts came crashing through the jungle. So wrapped up in his own thoughts, and in the preparation of his forces, he hadn’t noticed that one of the three metal giants was missing. He tapped the button on the headset he still wore. “Who just arrived, and from whence?” he demanded.

  “It’s Diaz, Admiral. While you were setting up your guys, I did a little recon to where the Virgin Galactic ship was reported. It’s there and it’s empty. Greene and Huntington are on the move, but no idea where.”

  Weatherby sighed. On top of everything else, two more individuals possessed by the very ghosts of Mars were loose somewhere in the blasted jungle—a mishap simply waiting to happen, no doubt. “Very well. I request you prepare your vehicles for battle as best you can. We shall be leaving shortly.”

  “Roger that, Admiral. Diaz out.”

  With a sigh, he tapped the button again, having become rather used to the instantaneous communication the headset afforded him. He thought of calling Elizabeth on the device, but his facility with these “comms” was not up to the task. Shaila had assured him that she would make contact regularly. It was another thing, small but so very, very important, out of his control.

  Weatherby walked over to the small camp table where Anne was working with Finch and Stephane. “Please tell me, my Lady, that there is some small progress to report.”

  “No, love, we have little to add to what we already know,” Anne replied, her eyes on the table with the Tablet and Book before her. “It seems Dr. Durand is much discomfited by proximity to these objects, and tells us that he is loath to touch them directly, for the creature inside him, this Rathemas, apparently wishes him to do so.”

  Weatherby looked at Stephane, who stood quietly, his arms cradled, face drawn. Finch, meanwhile, seemed agitated, his hands fluttering around a pencil and notebook but with precious few notes. “What say you, Dr. Finch?”

  “Damn it to Hell, I’ve not the slightest,” Finch said, tossing the pencil and notebook to the table. “Something tells me that these will play such a critical role in the hours to come, but for good or ill I cannot say, and the notion of it is vague intuition, nothing more.”

  “That’s not good enough, Doctor,” Weatherby said sharply.

  Finch seemed as though he was about to retort, but thought better of it. “We shall keep working,” he said simply.

  Weatherby shook his head. “There is no time. We have eight cannon. We shall need them to produce as much destructive power as you’re able by the time we arrive at the clearing. Suspend your work here, and join Lady Anne in preparing for battle. Dr. Durand, are you able to operate your…vehicle?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied steadily. “If you feel this battle will help get Rathemas out of me, I’ll do whatever you say.”

  That prompted a small smile from Weatherby. “Your commander is General Diaz, not myself, but I thank you nonetheless. I suggest you report to her and ready yourself.”

  As Finch and Stephane took their leave, Anne paused to address her husband. “Tom, are you sure this is the right course? I do not know what meeting the French will accomplish.”

  “No, I am not sure!” he barked. “I am sure of nothing! I know not what will happen. But even if the answers aren’t in the damned Venusian vaults, at least we will know that much, and can find answers elsewhere. It is the only course I can see, so I shall embark up on it, madam!”

  Anne’s eyes flashed in anger, for it was a very rare thing for Weatherby to be so curt with her. “Sir, do not mistake my question for doubt about you!” she said quietly, but with no small amount of venom. “We simply do not know what will come of this, and some of these men here will die because of this course.”

  “Men die all the time because of my orders!” Weatherby hissed. “And I thank God Almighty that he has seen fit to haunt me with their faces as I sleep, for otherwise what sort of monster would I be if I did not care? Do not come to me with men’s lives, madam, for I have each soul weighed upon me, and yet I still stand, an
d still do as I must. Would you cripple me with indecisiveness now, at the hour when decisions are hardest?”

  Taken aback, Anne nonetheless stood her ground. “If you must know, Tom, I fear that you have embarked upon this course to assuage your own guilt, not to add to it with men’s lives. More and more, the French draw closer to the Crown in Edinburgh. More and more, we are at our wit’s end. And yet, I ask you, what will this onslaught accomplish that a reconnaissance would not?”

  “It will result in fewer French!” Weatherby raged. “And yes, that is a horrible thing to say, but if I can remove even a hundred of these damnable revenants from the Known Worlds through this action, then I shall do it! We will fight through them to get to the vault because it is the right thing to do! And then we shall figure out whether or not we can save all of Mankind or whether it shall be in vain!”

  With that, the two of them stood staring at each other, both trembling and engulfed in anger and sorrow and remorse. Finally, Weatherby spoke once more, managing his words carefully. “I apologize, my Lady,” he replied. “We must do our duty to England, and to Mankind, and it falls upon me to decide. And so I have. Please, if you will, assist Finch with his preparations. We will have need of your talents if we are to succeed.”

  Quite unable to face his wife any further, Weatherby nodded and turned, walking briskly back down the beach where the marine commanders awaited him. He did not care to look back, for he was certain the look upon Anne’s face would wreck him as surely as any Void storm.

  “How’s the admiral holding up?” Diaz asked as the remaining crew of the Hadfield huddled on the beach.

  Shaila turned to follow Diaz’ gaze and saw Weatherby and Anne in what seemed to be an argument. “Honestly? Stressed out of his mind. He’s keeping it together, but it’s not been easy.”

  “His daughter and step-son are with hundreds of Venusians with spears, his wife is about to go into battle with him—I wouldn’t expect him to be happy,” Stephane said. “And really, we don’t even know if we’ll find anything we need at these memory vaults.”

  Diaz paused and looked down at the sandy beach. “I gotta say, I’m not exactly thrilled about this. Yeah, we helped out the English because we got good facial-recognition on Weatherby. That was my call, and I think it was the right one at the time. We had an ally under duress, and rules of engagement are clear on that one. But this battle? I have some doubts. This is a straight-up battle of the Napoleonic Wars, and even though the French supposedly have zombies or whatever, it’s still human against human for the most part. I like Weatherby, and in most cases I’d definitely consider him an allied commander. But for this, not sure we should be in the mix.”

  “What’s the alternative, then?” Shaila asked. “We could try to find Greene and Huntington on our own, but tracking them in this jungle is pretty close to impossible. And really, the whole idea is to get to the Venusian memory vault. If that’s what’s going to stop Althotas, and the French are resisting it, then they’re aiding and abetting an alien power. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

  “These are my countrymen, and I have no wish to hurt them, but I find myself agreeing with Shay here,” Stephane said. “We have the Emerald Tablet as well, and if we aren’t there when they reach the Vault, then they may not be able to stop Althotas—and get Rathemas out of my head.”

  “And if Althotas needs the tablet to win, we could end up giving it to him on a silver platter,” Diaz sighed. “We don’t even know if the French are defending a key objective or just some goddamn ammo depot.”

  Stephane shook his head. “I can’t say how I know this, but I feel like Rathemas wants us to get to the memory vault. There’s something there he needs.”

  “So we shouldn’t go?” Shaila asked.

  “No, I don’t mean that,” Stephane said. “He wants to go there, but he also seems nervous about us going. So maybe getting there is both a good idea and bad? I think it depends on what we do there, whether we win or not. Either way, if this is how he gets out of me, then I’m really very OK with it.”

  Diaz gave him a little smile. “Fair point. And if he gets out of you, maybe we get a chance to put a laser through his skull.”

  “I’d like that quite a lot,” Stephane agreed.

  With a sigh, Diaz straightened up. “OK, decision time. Jain, keep the Tablet in your V-SEV. Security of the object is top priority. If your V-SEV is compromised or damaged, sit tight and wait for Durand or I to come get you. Now, I know we went to bat for Weatherby out in space, but knowing just how much we’re in the dark here, I’m not real excited about engaging enemy combatants directly. We’re not here to re-fight the Napoleonic Wars. So we’ll head for the vault, but we will not, repeat not, engage French personnel.”

  “Roger that,” Shaila said. “But do zombies count?”

  The general raised an eyebrow at this and thought it out for a few moments before replying. “Maybe not. Anne told me they’re really dead, animated by…well, magic, I guess. So if the French have zombies with them, they’re fair game. But until we have proof that the main body of French troops are complicit in whatever Althotas is up to, hands off the living French guys.”

  “Très bon, General,” Stephane said with a smile. “Thank you for that.”

  Diaz clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries. One final thing about our friends here. I’m hoping Admiral Weatherby isn’t going to get all Captain Ahab on this quest, but he’s looking pretty stressed. If he goes off, we may need to withdraw and find our own answers. I know he’s a good guy, but he’s an allied commander, not actually on our team. If I feel we need to pull out, we will.

  “And as for Finch, if this book starts to make him squirrelly, we may have to put him down. We clear on that?”

  Shaila nodded. It seemed Finch was keeping it together, but with all the mystical bullshit flying around, it seemed prudent to have a fallback in place.

  Stephane, though, looked troubled. “And if I start acting ‘squirrelly,’ General? Do you put me down too?”

  Diaz held up her datapad. “You still got your collar on, Durand. If Rathemas acts up, you’ll be out cold in seconds. Now, get your V-SEVs warmed up. Jain, I’ll need you to work on a hack to get the most out of our lasers once we engage. Dismissed.”

  Shaila and Stephane headed to their V-SEVs. “You’re doing good,” she told him. “We won’t have to zap you.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “So far, so good. But please, knock me out if he comes through. I don’t want to experience that again.”

  She stopped him and gave him a short but passionate kiss. “You got this. I won’t need to. Now…saddle up. We may have some zombies to fry.”

  CHAPTER 23

  January 30, 2135

  May 29, 1809

  And so it comes to this, Weatherby thought as he looked across the shaded glen toward the French lines.

  They were in a vale, one with a fine clearing therein, though a portion of that was swamp and muck. A brook provided the water for the bog, which drained off behind Weatherby and away from the trail that brought his men there. There were trees and vines surrounding the clearing, radiant in their riot of colors—blues, reds, yellows and at least a score of different greens.

  And like a sickly cancer, an infection upon the very face of life, the blue coats and grey flesh of the Corps Éternel stood out among the greenery of the Venusian fauna. There were living men among them, of course, notable for their nervous movement and shouts filled with bravado, whereas their expired fellows remained both silent and stock-still.

  Soldiers without fear, Weatherby thought. To think we shall face such an unthinking, horrific enemy as that. And according to his advance scouts, there were at least two thousand such abominations within the French ranks, with a hundred more living officers among them and some twenty cannon.

  He took a moment to mark this place in his memory, for there was the fear that Anne was indeed right about his motivations—he found women in general, and Anne in partic
ular, knew more of men’s minds than men themselves. And if he was indeed wrong, and lived to make his regrets, he wished to remember well his folly amongst such natural beauty.

  Weatherby then turned to survey his own men, a mere three hundred strong, and did his level best to mark their faces in his mind as well. His marines stood out with their red coats and finery, while the able seamen with them remained less conspicuous in their shipboard clothing. The eight cannon they managed to bring were well placed, and he knew Victory’s men could fire and reload at least triple the rate of the French artillerists. They would have to, would there be any chance of evening the odds.

  The ground shook beside him as Shaila approached in her “mech,” whatever such a word meant—mechanical, certainly, though he could see no gears nor levers upon the giant skeleton encasing her. The hatch atop the metal giant opened, and he could see his counterpart therein, wearing the headset that allowed her to talk with her fellows.

  “Reporting for duty, my Lord Admiral,” she said with a hint of a smile. “General Diaz and Dr. Durand have taken flanking positions on either side of your front line.”

  Weatherby nodded. “Thank you, Commander. If your….mechanism…can withstand the assault, I should like you in the vanguard.”

  Shaila nodded. “Aye, sir,” she replied. “I don’t think anything they have will be a problem.”

  Weatherby examined the hatch as best he could, though it was a good six feet above his head. “The glass? Would that not be a problem?”

  “No, sir. If it can withstand the pressure on Venus—my Venus—it can manage pretty much anything these guys throw at us. Only a direct hit would worry me.”