Sure, he’d been in contact with Total-Suez. They swore up and down they’d have his back. But they also said he needed to come in, that they couldn’t help him unless he surrendered, got the mug shot, did the perp walk. Only then would they pony up the gold-plated legal team. They had to—it was part of Harry’s contract. The company, at least, was done letting him play cowboy.
Harry took another swig of Scotch. Hell, the Siwa thing was a good idea. It was still a good idea. He just played it too fast. Too loose. He should’ve had the team do more legwork, more research. But the lure of an unspoiled Earth—an unspoiled solar system! And actual fucking alchemy!—was too good to resist. Sure, the money was part of it—a large part of it—but he’d be the guy who opened up an entire new market full of resources. Unlimited energy. New scientific breakthroughs. He’d be a star in the business firmament.
“How ya doin’, Harry?”
Harry turned to regard the woman who slid into the seat next to him. In his buzzed state, it took a moment. “Huh. You work for Diaz. I didn’t think you made it out.”
“I didn’t,” Maggie Huntington replied. “Not all the way. But close enough.”
Harry looked her up and down. She had ditched the uniform for a slinky dress, which she wore well, but otherwise she looked pretty bad, almost as if she was hung over. Sweaty, bloodshot eyes, dark circles. Twitchy.
“You here to take me in?” he asked, downing the last of his Scotch. He was glad he went for the good stuff tonight. Might be his last for a while.
“Nope,” Huntington said, looking over Harry’s shoulder.
Harry turned to see Greene taking the seat on the other side of him.
“We’re going to restart the project,” Greene said. He also looked like shit. “And you’re going to help us.”
It was all Harry could do to not laugh in his face. “And if I don’t?”
Greene shrugged. “We’ll just tie you up, leave you in your room and call Diaz.”
“Huh. And if I do?”
Huntington smiled at him, a wicked grin which did very little to make Harry feel better. “Then you get it all back. And then some.”
Harry was a good businessman. He could read situations pretty well. The best situation would’ve been to not be found, but that was out the window. And that left . . .
“I’m listening.”
December 4, 1798
“You have a visitor, mon general.”
Napoleon Bonaparte looked up from his desk and frowned. It was easily past midnight. This was supposed to be the time to work, not receive guests. He glared at his aide-de-camp. “Why would you interrupt me with visitors at this hour?” he demanded.
The aide looked suitably cowed, yet remained undaunted. “I think, monsieur general, you will want to see him.”
Before the aide could speak further, a man strode past him into Napoleon’s study. He was older, and quite thin, wearing cast-off rags and thin sandals. And yet . . . “My God, Berthollet!” the general exclaimed, rising from his desk. “So thin! I didn’t recognize you! I thought you were lost to us!” The two men hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks. Napoleon looked closely at his friend . . . and saw something in his eyes that seemed quite different. “What happened to you?”
Berthollet smiled, and there was a feral quality to it. “Our expedition was lost, General. But out of defeat, I believe I have given you a tool for your eventual victory.”
Napoleon retreated back behind his desk and sat; something deep inside him wanted to ensure there was space between him and Berthollet. “Did you acquire the book?”
“No, sir. Not exactly. Did we acquire the tablet?”
“No, we did not,” Napoleon said, a hint of disgust in his voice. “The damned English sent that Weatherby fellow, of all people, in pursuit of Franklin. He and his Xan allies intervened, though the Franklin managed an escape thanks to our friends among the Xan. The tablet was destroyed, the Count St. Germain slain. Our friend wept for days on hearing it. I’m not sure which loss struck him more.”
Berthollet only smiled again. “Cagliostro was always an emotional fool. He hoped the synthesis of the book and tablet would restore the power stripped from him by St. Germain. But I think he has served his purpose.”
“Oh, really?” Napoleon said. “The only man to have awakened an ancient Martian warrior, the one who guided you toward both the book and the tablet—a fool past his purpose? And what would replace such a resource?”
Berthollet turned and shouted toward the door. “Come!”
Two French soldiers entered into the room, wearing full cloaks. Berthollet ordered their cloaks removed, and they stiffly complied, allowing the drapings to fall to the floor.
Napoleon gasped.
The soldiers were dead.
Their skin clung to their very bones like wet clothes upon a rack. Their eyes were gone, their lips as well. They had various small wounds upon their bodies, and a few larger ones as well. There was no blood upon these wounds, save for flecks of dried blackness. Napoleon could see dried flesh and bare bone where the skin was rent.
“What madness is this?” Napoleon whispered.
Berthollet’s smile grew even wider, and more disturbing besides. “No madness, General. The book is lost, but through the notes I kept, I have discovered a way to animate the bodies of the deceased. They are revenants, devoid of soul and Will, but also lacking the need to eat or sleep, and deprived of any ability to feel pain. They follow commands to the letter.
“They are, I believe, the perfect soldiers.”
Napoleon stood once more and walked toward the two . . . revenants, was it? He inspected them carefully, his natural revulsion quashed by the potential he saw. “This is sorcery,” he said finally—not as an epithet, but as a question.
“No, General. It is alchemy. The sorcery was in trying to place souls within them, and that is where we erred, and doomed our expedition,” Berthollet said. “These men, their souls are at peace. And their bodies remain . . . a resource, as you said.”
Napoleon continued to pace around the two revenants, thinking. “How difficult is it?”
“The working needs refinement. But given two, perhaps three years, I believe we can make this working practical and, more importantly, teach it to others to use.”
The general stopped pacing. “That is quite a bit of time, Berthollet. There is a war now. We make for the Levant soon.”
“What is in the Levant, my general, which Europe does not have? Why rule the desert sands when this”—he pointed at the revenants—“guarantees you the fertile fields of the most advanced civilizations on Earth?”
Napoleon slowly began to nod. “This will take planning.”
“Yes, it will,” Berthollet agreed.
The general looked the revenants up and down once more. “You can replicate this working, yes? Do you need these two?”
“I can, General. And no, they are not necessary to continue my work.”
“Have them destroyed,” Napoleon ordered. “No evidence should remain. We must work secretly, so that when the time is right, our army will take the world by surprise.”
Berthollet agreed. Borrowing Napoleon’s sword, the alchemist neatly decapitated the two revenants—and they crumbled to dust almost immediately. Useful, indeed.
Napoleon had his aide see to getting the alchemist fresh clothes, food and a bed, and ordered Berthollet to make a full written report of all that transpired. The general then spent the rest of the night wide awake, thinking. Finally, he sent a letter to his brother Lucien, a politician of growing influence in Paris.
There was much to write about.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There was a time when the first book in this series, The Daedalus Incident, was in jeopardy of never getting published—which means you might not have The Enceladus Crisis in your hands now. Thankfully, in late spring 2013, Night Shade Books completed the sale of its assets to Skyhorse Publishing and Start Media, which published Daedalus; Skyhorse then agreed
to let me continue writing in the Known Worlds. Needless to say, there are a lot of people to thank for that.
Tony Lyons of Skyhorse and Jarred Weisfeld of Start Media purchased those Night Shade assets and made Night Shade an imprint of Skyhorse and Start. And that meant I got to see The Daedalus Incident and this book out on the shelves. The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, and particularly Mary Robinette Kowal, looked out for the interests of Night Shade authors during some difficult times. And of course, the crew at the old Night Shade deserves credit for making the sale happen as well. Thank you all for your hard work.
I also want to thank all the folks in the SF/F community for all their support for this series. Hats off to John DeNardo, Patrick Hester, Paul “Prince Jvstin” Weimer and the whole SFSignal crew, Stefan Raets and the Tor.com gang, the folks at io9.com, Justin Landon, Abhinav Jain (Shaila’s great-great-grandpa, apparently), the Skiffy and Fanty crew and so many others. And thanks also to so many authors who lent me their digital space to talk about my work, including Mary Robinette Kowal (again!), John Scalzi, Anne Lyle, J. M. McDermott, Heather McCorkle, Bryan Thomas Schmidt and my beer-kin, Chuck Wendig. Also, a shout-out to my agency brethren, Michael R. Underwood and Jason M. Hough, for the kind words and encouragement. Really, the whole SF/F community of authors, reviewers and readers has been very welcoming, and I greatly appreciate it.
The team at the new Night Shade imprint has been fantastic to work with. My thanks to Jason Katzman for agreeing to let me play more in this nifty sandbox, to Cory Allyn for excellent editing, and to Ardi Alspach and Lauren Burnstein for yeoman’s work on the publicity front.
For this book, I enlisted a couple of beta-readers to help me make sure I was on the right track, and they delivered in a huge way. Many thanks to Andrew Montgomery and Dan Hanks for their excellent feedback. It’s a better book because of them.
I want to give a special thank-you to my agent Sara Megibow, who negotiated contracts for The Daedalus Incident twice during the transition, then turned around and did a fantastic job on the sale of this book and its forthcoming sequel. And she did it all with great humor and grace. I salute your awesomeness.
And then there’s my incredible wife, Kate, and our amazing daughter, Anna. Thank you both for all the love and encouragement. You make the journey worthwhile.
Finally, there are all the folks out there who embraced The Daedalus Incident and are reading this now. Thanks for letting me tell these stories.
Michael J. Martinez
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael J. Martinez is the author of The Daedalus Incident, The Enceladus Crisis, and the upcoming The Venusian Gambit, and is a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Mike is a former journalist who, when not writing about sailing ships in space, enjoys cooking, homebrewing, and travel, along with all things geek. He lives with his wife and daughter in the greater New York City area.
Books by Michael J. Martinez
The Daedalus Incident
The Enceladus Crisis
The Gravity of the Affair (novella)
The Enceladus Crisis Page 38
