Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  TEMPLUM VENERIS

  Books By Jeremy L. Jones

  Ruins of Empire

  Book One : Saturnius Mons

  Book Two: Templum Veneris

  TEMPLUM VENERIS

  Book Two of Ruins of Empire

  By Jeremy L. Jones

  Cover Design by Nick Martin

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the interest of either the author or publisher.

  Templum Veneris

  Ruins of Empire #2

  Copyright ©2019 by Jeremy L. Jones

  ISBN 978-1-7324709-3-4

  ISBN (ePUB) 978-1-7324709-2-7

  All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior permission of the author.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  For my parents. To Gib and Dotty who raised me and Hal and Renee who let me marry their daughter. For all their support, be it emotional, editorial or (let’s face it) financial, I am forever grateful.

  “Every lover serves as a soldier.”

  Ovid

  PROLOGUE

  Excerpts From, The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization

  Volume #1: The Global Revolution by Martin Raffe

  It seems obvious to us now at the beginning of the thirty-first century. But, if one were living in the early to the mid-twenty-first century, the Federated Republic of Brazil might have seemed like an unlikely candidate to lead a complete, worldwide revolt against Corporate rule. Though a vast and resource-rich nation: Brazil’s dense rainforests and mountainous terrain meant that large swathes of the country (mostly in the north) were sparsely inhabited. Corruption and political instability kept it from becoming the economic powerhouse that the United States, China, or even the European Union was at that time. Their military, though a dominant regional force, only had enough personnel and equipment to engage in smaller humanitarian interventions and, occasionally, overthrow its own government.

  But hidden inside that vast country was a will that would easily make up for its perceived shortfalls. All the people needed was a singular force to set them to a unified goal. The ‘Great Man Theory’ of history states that all that is required is a leader with the right drive and charisma; a man who can move the population with his words, fearlessly lead the military, and inspire economic greatness.

  This is what makes Diana Adriana such a singular figure in all of human history.

  Part Adolf Hitler, part George Washington, and part Moses, Diana Adriana’s gender is, perhaps, the least interesting thing about her. And yet, documents from that era obsess about it to a laughable degree.

  During a time when political leaders all over the globe appeared not only powerless against the multinational corporations, but willing participants in the exploitation of their populations, maybe an ingrained maternal instinct was required for the right person to see and fully understand the dangers that a global corporation might pose to the well-being of her people.

  It could also be argued it was because of the perceived deficiencies of her sex that she was able to accomplish what every other leader of a major country during that time failed to do. At every step, the multinational corporations and their government allies underestimated her resolve and the resolve of the Brazilian people.

  The tale of the Global Revolution of the late twenty-first and early twenty-second century is a tale of men and women accomplishing feats that were considered impossible. In that way, it is fitting that it was led by the most improbable leader of that time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In 2081 and nearly the age of forty, Diana Adriana was hardly an archetype for one of the greatest political leaders the world had ever known. When she first emerged on the world stage, she was largely regarded as a nobody. Having run at least three failed or failing businesses and, as reports from that time ceaselessly mention, on her third marriage she was dismissed as an upstart from the slums of Santos who committed a terrible crime.

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

  Isra Jicarrio reached out to touch a few icons floating in front of her that would align the radio telescope again and pressed the headphones tight over her ears. Her shoulder-length black hair was a mess. Her almond eyes were closed tight and her small frame was curled up on the chair. It was as if her entire body was focused on the sound coming through the earphones. Behind the hiss of static, there was a whistling noise modulating between high and low tones. The regular rhythm told her that it was human-created.

  She reached up to touch another translucent green icon hovering in front of her and leaned close to the built-in microphone on the console. “Hello. Do you hear me? Is anybody there?”

  She clasped her earphones around her head again listening for something, anything; a tiny variation in the timing, a slightly different pitch, a stop or a start, literally anything but the constant, modulating whistle.

  She sat there, with her hands tight over her earphones listening to the noise for… a while… an hour… maybe more. It would take that long for her words to reach the source of the sound. All she could do was wait.

  She became aware of a low, dull thumping. She perked up for a moment. For the briefest period, she believed, after days of working, that she had uncovered something new. But then she realized that the noise came from inside the cramped little control room she sat in.

  She looked up to confirm that the feed was still recording and pulled the headphones off her head.

  Another series of quick, low thumps from the door followed by a timid male voice. “Uh…. Ms. Jicarrio. I hate to bother you...”

  Isra tossed the headphones on the console, stood up and jerked open the metal door. It was Joseph. Of course, it was Joseph, he was the only other human stuck on this installation in the middle of nowhere.

  The steward of the Colombian Province Radio Telescope Installation took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. “It’s Mr. Marcelo again. He says that—”

  Isra let out an exasperated sigh. “Tell him I have the telescope for at least another hour.”

  She started to shut the door, but Joseph stood in the way. “Yes, I understand. Only, I already told him that… about an hour
ago.”

  Isra whipped her head around to look at the icons floating over the console. “What time is it?”

  “Just about dawn, Ma’am,” Joseph said apologetically.

  Isra sighed again, letting more and more frustration creep into her voice. “Put him through.”

  The steward gave her a slight nod before he turned and withdrew to his work area. Isra went back to the chair in front of the console and sat down hard. While she waited, she watched the data coming in. There was still no variation, and the signal was getting weaker. She would have to make an adjustment soon or risk losing the signal entirely.

  One of the green icons floating in front of her flashed, and she reached to touch it. Had it been a physical thing, she would have slapped it across the room.

  “Good morning, Emilio,” she said with forced monotone.

  “For you, perhaps. For me, it’s another evening where I’m woken up in the middle of the night by crews complaining that you refuse to give them the time they are allotted on the telescope .”

  “The windows of time I am given to use the telescope are unacceptably short. For example, given Jupiter and Earth’s relative positions in their orbit, and given the speed of light, it takes exactly 41.35 minutes for a signal—”

  “I don’t care, Isra,” said Emilio, his voice bellowing over the speaker. “I’ve got scientists who have work to do, same as you. And they have booked time on that telescope, and they need—”

  “I am only given the scraps of time they leave behind,” she snapped back. “How can I accomplish anything—”

  “Isra,” Emilio interrupted. “Listen carefully. The only reason you are given that much is to keep you out of the way.”

  “I find that assessment extremely offensive,” Isra began.

  “Sorry, but it’s the truth. After what happened on Titan, they just needed somewhere to put you; a place where you could be serving the Ministry on paper, but in all practical terms, where you couldn’t do any more damage.”

  Isra’s mouth went dry, she clenched her teeth and shook slightly as she suppressed her rage.

  “What? You think I don’t know?” Emilio continued. “It’s an open secret, Isra. Every Ministry official knows. Hell, even Joseph probably knows. And I’m sorry about that, I really am. But if you think that means I’m going to spend every waking moment of my life catering to your—”

  “Just let me file a report,” Isra conceded. “About fifteen minutes. That is all I require at this time.” There was a long pause on the other end before Emilio replied.

  “Fine. But this better be the last I hear of you overrunning, okay? Use the time you are given and take it as the gift that it is.” With a click, the line went dead.

  Isra reached up to touch another icon and began speaking. “Isra Jicarrio, Human Reconnection Project, observation 4116. Date; February 15th, 3005, 4:45 a.m. Current observation of object designation Juliet-Charlie 41446 does not respond when hailed nor does its signal show any detectable variation. Object most likely a forgotten pre-Fall probe in a trans-Jovian orbit.”

  She reached out to wave her hand through the holographic interface again, and it disappeared. Nearby, a small silver box whirred and ejected a transparent disk the size of a coin. Isra pulled it from the drive and held it up to the dim light, watching the glowing numbers crawl across its transparent surface.

  Those rotten numbers. There was no civilization. No lost colony. Not even an ancient derelict settlement craft. It was just a probe. Six months of work and the numbers gave her the location of a piece of primeval space trash. Of course, she knew that from the beginning. When she returned from Titan, the Ministry had assigned her a list of about thirty unknown objects emitting radio signals. Any one of these objects, she was told, could be a whole new colony left behind since the Fall; another opportunity to find the remains of the Global Civilization that existed until the mid-twenty-second century, another chance to redeem herself.

  It was a lie. She knew it then, and she knew it now. She was, however, unaware of how many other people knew. Or maybe she was, but her own stubbornness kept her from seeing it.

  In a flash of rage, she flung the worthless disk across the room where it shattered against the door. Joseph opened it a second later balancing a tray with two steaming mugs. He looked down at the remains of the disk and then at her. His dark brown eyes and weak smile conveyed a knowing sympathy as he said, “No results again?”

  Isra flopped back into the chair. “I need a time machine. I want to go back before the Fall and throttle the man who came up with carbon nanotube cathodes.”

  Joseph put the tray down on an empty spot on the console and handed her a mug. “What makes you believe it was a man?”

  Isra sipped her drink and made a face. She still couldn’t get used to the yerba mate tea Joseph made. It tasted like she was sucking on a tree root pulled right from the ground and dipped in pine sap. Still, it had a caffeine jolt that could have a man on his deathbed strapping on his dance shoes one last time. At this late hour, or early depending on how you looked at it, it helped.

  “No woman would invent a technology that would outlive her own damned civilization,” she said, in between sips. “We are more practical. Every moon, planet, and empty space on the ecliptic has some useless piece of garbage beeping away because they are powered with batteries that have a lifespan measured in geological scales.”

  “Could be,” Joseph said, as he sat down on another chair at the console and took a mug from the tray.

  Isra didn’t know why she felt the need to save face in front of Joseph. He was a nervous, fidgety man who constantly adjusted his wire-thin glasses, straightened his vest—he wore the same, black and green tartan-pattern vest and pressed white shirt every day of his life—and looked down when he talked. He was nice enough, but he was one of those men who felt compelled to be endlessly helpful. He had sharp features and a little smile that Isra would have to admit, if pressed and assuming the other party could keep a secret, were kind of cute. And he had a crush. All the signs were there from day one. Dilated pupils, a slight flush in his face, and the tiny sheen of perspiration on the tops of his wringing hands were all there from the moment the two were introduced. Isra had this nagging feeling that, after months of working up the courage, he was about to act on it. In fact, from his posture—his back straight, and his chest out—the way his eyes wandered—every direction but at her—and the feigned confidence when he spoke to her indicated it was coming.

  Isra turned to the console and closed her eyes. Please. Not today. If you have any sense, not today.

  “If you’re almost done for the day,” said Joseph, his voice shaking slightly, “I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast with me.”

  It took every bit of willpower to stifle a frustrated groan.

  He added, “I know a great place in town. They have coffee—”

  Isra cut him off. “Listen, Joseph. I appreciate the offer. And I am flattered. And I understand that you feel an attraction to me. And it is nice of you to offer.”

  “Yes, I was going for nice,” said Joseph, suddenly extremely interested in the contents of his mug.

  “But your timing is appalling. I understand. Your male instincts see a woman, a woman that you care for, but a woman that is vulnerable. In pursuing a romantic relationship I can see how that vulnerability might be seen as…”

  “It’s a signal!” Joseph set his mug down so hard that the liquid sloshed on the tray.

  Isra clenched her teeth again. “It is not. It is just a series of situations that are beyond my control, and I just need to—”

  “No! Not that!” Joseph pushed in front of Isra. “I mean the dish is picking up something.”

  Isra leaned to the side to see around the man and watched the waveform diagram displayed on one of the monitors above the controls. It showed a scrolling visual representation of the sounds collected from space. There were a couple of odd spikes just now. Her eyes drifted to an adja
cent monitor that showed the orientation of the dishes.

  “It looks like Venus drifted into the scanning range. I have checked Venus before, but there has never been any signal. It is probably just solar interference.”

  Joseph shook his head as he adjusted the controls. “Solar interference doesn’t look like that. Neither do satellites. This is different.”

  Joseph activated the speakers and the room filled with a static hiss. Isra scooted the chair back as Joseph continued to adjust the controls to get a clearer signal. She closed her eyes listening for any sound other than the nothingness of space.

  The telescope steward stood back from the controls and waited in silence. After a few minutes, Isra shook her head. She had to admit that she had allowed herself a moment of hope. But now she wasn’t sure she could take another crushing disappointment.

  “Forget it, Joseph, turn it off. I am already late, and the other team is waiting.”