Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  Viekko took off his wide-brimmed white hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He estimated the heat climbed at least twenty degrees since they left the heart of the city. Viekko swore he could take off his shirt and twist a gallon of sweat out of it, but the heat didn’t seem to bother anyone else. The other soldiers marched in perfect unison on soil baked to the hardness of concrete beneath the heat. The formation stopped at a long pile of rock, dirt and debris that was a little taller than he was and went as far as Viekko could see in either direction.

  Gabriel called for a halt then turned to him. “This is Modesto’s wall, the barrier between Cytherea and the wild Outlands.”

  ‘Wall’ was an interesting term for what Viekko saw. The word implied masonry or some form of construction at least. Modesto’s wall could be replicated by an earth mover in about ten minutes as it was little more than a pile of rocks and dirt packed into a straight line. For an incoming invasion, it would be little more than an annoying speed bump.

  “I was expecting something more… wall-like,” said Viekko.

  Gabriel smiled and turned back to the embankment. “When Maximilliano Modesto reclaimed Cytherea from the raiders, he decreed this wall be built. It was originally meant to be a wall constructed around the entire city, but we soon discovered Corsario would attack the builder groups. So they built the wall out of the remains of the farms and dwellings the raiders destroyed.”

  Gabriel clambered up the divide, dislodging loose dirt and rocks as he went, and motioned for Viekko to follow. It wasn’t much of an obstacle, but it was high and steep enough that he couldn’t see what was just beyond it. When Viekko reached the top, it took him a moment to understand exactly what he saw on the other side.

  At first glance, the land beyond the wall looked exactly like what lay within the walls, except that, out there, several smooth white stones punctuated the dull orange-brown rock of Venus. He noticed a Cytherean spear stuck into the ground about a hundred meters away with one of the white stones, as large as a bowling ball, mounted on the end.

  There were others like it spaced at regular intervals. That’s when Viekko figured it out. The white stones mounted on the spears were human skulls facing the opposite direction; perhaps as a warning to whatever terrible existed farther down the mountain. The whole scene, in fact, was a massive boneyard that stretched the entire length of the embankment.

  “Cytherean warriors are bred from birth to be the finest of warriors,” Gabriel continued. “I am confident they are the match against any military force in the Universe. Still, the enemy we fight on our borders every day test even our strongest warriors. Do you know what makes a warrior great, Viekko?”

  “Testicles like boulders and brains like pebbles?” muttered Viekko. Then he added in Cytherean, “I do not know.”

  Gabriel laughed. It was an eerie sound in this macabre setting. “I speak of honor, friend. Honor makes men into myths and mere soldiers into legends.”

  “I don’t understand, Gabriel. Why did you bring me out here?”

  “To understand the Cytherean soldier, you must not only understand the how, you must understand the why.”

  Viekko closed his eyes. The air reeked of sulfur and death. “Are you telling me you only fight for honor?”

  “We fight to defend Cytherea,” said Gabriel, “But any person can fight. A dog will fight if threatened. For a true warrior, fighting is an art. It must bring satisfaction.”

  Viekko looked again out over the field of the dead, then back at the soldiers still standing in perfect attention. “Killing your enemies does not give you satisfaction?”

  Gabriel breathed in deep, as if he were thinking about something. “It is like this. As animals, we could eat off the ground. We could live off fruits and grass and kill with our teeth. But we cook meals and add spice. We enjoy the food in the company of others. It is a pleasure, not only a necessity. We could rut in the field like the sheep or the cows, but we enjoy arte de lareira. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, but what has that got to do with me?”

  Gabriel glanced down with a particular emphasis on the spot right by his heart where his handguns bulged in his jacket. “Your weapons, are you good with them?”

  Viekko drew one of his guns from his shoulder holster. He aimed at one of the skulls mounted on the spear. He pulled the trigger, and the bone shattered into white dust. The shot echoed for nearly a minute across the barren landscape.

  Gabriel gave Viekko’s gun a kind of sad, knowing look. “It is as I expected. I heard tales of small lanca fogo in old stories of Earth. I never thought one could actually exist.”

  Viekko turned the phrase ‘lanca fogo’ over in his head until his programmed knowledge of the Cytherean language told him what it meant. Fire lance. In rough concept, it was probably the nearest word they had for ‘gun’.

  “You have lanca fogo here?” Viekko holstered his pistol.

  “It is the weapon of the Corsario,” replied Gabriel. “They take what they can from our farms and mines. What they cannot take, they burn. They fight without honor.”

  “I see,” said Viekko.

  “True honor comes with seeing your enemy’s face as he dies by your sword. Only raiders kill from a distance. There is no honor in that.”

  Ah, thought Viekko, so that was the way of things. Gabriel was about to offer him a challenge which he knew he should refuse. He was here to observe, report, and provide a clearer understanding of the Cytherean culture, not—he could almost hear Isra’s voice in his head—engage in stupid, dangerous displays that accomplish nothing but to service his ego. But, in the back of his head, he thought of Captain Colton. He had to admit the thrill of a fight was one of the few things that still made his tattered mind feel anything.

  Then he thought back to Althea.

  Without a word, Viekko pulled the clip from both his firearms, emptied the chambers and replaced them in their holsters. He slipped his jacket off and with it, the guns in their holsters. He handed the shoulder holsters to Gabriel and put his khaki jacket back on.

  “Do you have a spear?” Viekko asked, adjusting his hat.

  Gabriel called one of the soldiers to the top of the embankment. “Please give Viekko the honor of borrowing your weapons on this day. And make sure this gets back to the Sala Gran. Our friend is gracious to us, but I do not believe he wishes to be without his weapons forever.”

  The soldier climbed to the top, handed Viekko his spear and shield followed by the small sword in a sheath strapped to a belt. Then he took the guns, bowed, slid back down the embankment, and sprinted up the hill toward the city.

  Gabriel slapped Viekko’s back. “We have much land to cover on this day. If today we fight, we fight with extra glory with you by our side, friend.”

  Viekko laughed as he started to strap on the belt and the sword. For a split second, his eye caught the runner as he disappeared into the distance with his guns in hand and felt a slight twinge in his gut. He was rarely unarmed and certainly not while on a mission. He had been without clothes earlier that day, but now he truly felt naked.

  Spear and shield in hand, he made his way back down the embankment where the line of soldiers still waited. The Captain of the Guard gave the order, and they started marching along Modesto’s wall. As Viekko walked next to Gabriel, he couldn’t help that sick, nagging feeling that he was walking wide-eyed and purposefully into a trap. At the same time, he tried to ease that anxiety. Cytherea seemed peaceful enough at the moment. These Corsarios, if they were really out there, hadn’t stirred up too much trouble yet. Besides, what were the chances they would attack while they were visiting the city?

  Then Viekko thought about it again. They were important guests of the Cytherean court and somebody clearly had a grudge against the city. Add to that the fact that the shuttle parked outside the city gates wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

  Okay, maybe this was a slight mistake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At the height of t
he purges, as dictators often do, Adriana built an organization of fanatical followers to enforce her will. Dubbed Bruxa Fogo or Fire Witches in English, this female-led coalition became equal parts secret police and paramilitary force. Platoons of these hardliners raided businesses believed to bow to foreign influence and harassed ordinary citizens that dared speak out against Adriana and her regime.

  On a social media post gone viral, one tourist lamented, “You used to walk the beaches of Rio and see hundreds of beautiful women in the sun. Now, women here dress head-to-toe in dark green military uniforms and demand fingerprint identification.”

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

  Althea peeked around the corner to see the Rainha and her entourage turn off the main road and head up the side of the mountain. She sighed and leaned back against the white wall that formed one side of the alleyway. She had managed to pilfer an oculto robe hanging on a line a few houses behind her, but it wasn’t quite long enough. There was the chance that someone might catch a glimpse of her black boots, and the way the heavy, brown fabric fell over her medical regulator looked odd. Also, if she wasn’t careful, the screen of her EROS computer peeked out from under the sleeve, but it would do. Aware that she had not seen a great deal of red hair in her short time on Cytherea, she pulled hers back and tucked it deep in the hood which she slid over her head, covering as much of her face as possible.

  She took a quick evaluation of her disguise, such as it was, and then, after one more peek, slipped out into the slow march of oculto workers. She headed in the direction she last saw the Rainha traveling, moving through the crowd at a faster pace, eliciting some grunts and odd looks from others, but she soon caught up with the back of the entourage; just another faceless person among the many.

  The Rainha stopped in front of one of the large estates. She spoke a few words to her soldiers and then went in.

  Althea circled the house, keeping out of sight. Flowering bushes, trees, small fountains, and all the other trappings of a peaceful garden surrounded the large villa, providing a quiet haven away from the urban chaos outside. She moved along the wall, pushing her way through foliage as necessary to check the windows.

  The first window looked into an empty bedroom. So did the second. Althea worked her way along a great deal of the outside before she finally found a view that at least let her peek into an open common area beyond. The window itself looked into a kitchen, but standing on a rock and lifting herself up, she could just make out what was going on in the center of the building. She noticed a large group of women and, among them, the Rainha. Althea grunted as she lifted herself higher to try and see more. One particular woman, who appeared to be standing above the crowd, held everyone’s attention. She was held in place by a few of the citizen women and oculto. The woman gritted her teeth, winced and then cried out in pain.

  Althea let herself down for a moment to rest her arms and then lifted herself up again. This time one of the women had moved, and Althea could see the one in the center was pregnant and, by the look of agony, it was likely that she was going into labor if she wasn’t deep in it already.

  The crunch of gravel on the steps and a rustle of leaves indicated someone was coming. Althea let herself down, bowed her head, and started to casually walk away from the noise.

  “Voce! Oculto! Pare!” said a voice behind her.

  Althea was keenly aware that this person was trying to get her attention, but she picked up the pace and kept moving.

  “Oculto! Pare!” called the woman’s voice again. It wasn’t the Rainha at least, Althea was reasonably certain of that. However, it wasn’t someone that Althea wanted to talk to either so she kept her head down and sped up, hoping to find an opening to the street and make a getaway.

  The woman ran up to her, grabbed the sleeve of her robe and pulled her around to face her. From there, the woman began to loudly berate her, purging a great deal of anger in one tirade.

  Althea simply kept her head down repeatedly muttering, “Desculpa. Desculpa.” It was a term that had popped into her head as a result of the neural conditioning. Althea felt a brief twinge of satisfaction as she realized that it was becoming easier to find the words. Still, she hadn’t yet developed the skill to understand the litany of abusive terms the woman in the white dress and red cloak hurled in her direction.

  Finally, the citizen woman grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the garden and around to the front of the estate. She pushed Althea through the front door, muttered a few more angry terms, and walked through the entryway and into the common area, apparently wanting Althea to follow her.

  A chill ran through Althea’s body as she wondered what possible task the woman wanted her to perform, especially given the circumstances. She walked into the main room and took a minute to observe the scene.

  It was a birth. That much was clear. Cythereans apparently favored a method of giving birth standing up. The woman in question perched on a couple of clay bricks and several women supported her by her arms. The procedure, as Althea understood the concept, should be fairly straightforward; they kneel in front and… well… catch. Althea noticed, with some dismay, there was nobody in that position at the moment. There was also a great deal of attention directed at her.

  Of course an oculto would be called in as a midwife, it being a technical and thankless job. And of course, she was mistaken for the one called. Althea straightened up and slowly approached. She was a doctor, after all. This wasn’t her specialty, but she could do this.

  The woman held on the blocks breathed in short, ragged breaths; occasionally, she screamed or grunted in pain. Althea turned to one of the women holding her, a short, fair-haired citizen, and, after finding the words to ask ‘how long,’ said, “Quao mais?”

  “Um dia interio,” the short woman replied straining with the effort to keep the pregnant woman on her feet.

  Althea thought about the words for a moment. ‘One entire day.’ Althea swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm herself. Something was terribly wrong if she’d been in labor that long.

  The pregnant woman grunted again with another contraction. Althea noted, with some relief, that it wasn’t the same girl she had met the previous evening. This woman had a smaller frame and a darker complexion. She closed her eyes tight and moaned as another contraction hit. Althea touched the side of the woman’s face to focus her attention on her. “Calma. Respira.” Althea took a deep breath and let it out to emphasize the point and repeated, “Calma.”

  Althea tried to maintain eye contact with the woman, but something behind her appeared to be drawing her attention every time Althea tried to direct her eyes to meet her own. Whatever it was, seemed to terrify her. Whenever the woman’s attention was drawn to the space behind Althea, she would start shaking and her rate of breathing shot up to the point of hyperventilation. Althea waved a hand in front of her face to get the woman’s attention and tried to pull the woman’s focus back on her. She took a couple deep breaths as she tried to think of the words. “Olhe para mim. Respira. Calma.” Then she added, “Voce vai ficar bem.”

  Althea wasn’t sure how she knew how to say, ‘You’re going to be fine,’ except that the more she used the language, the easier it became.

  Another contraction hit, and the woman screamed in pain. The two women on either side of her strained harder to keep her upright on the blocks.

  You can do this, Althea told herself. It’s just labor, it’s a natural process. It was covered in medical school. Of course, her education lacked the finer points of how to aid a birth on another planet, in the middle of a primitive culture, with no access to medical supplies, and doing all of this in a language she did not fully understand, but she tried to keep her mind off of that.

  The woman screamed again. Althea knelt down to take a look.

  “Bloody hell,” she muttered to herself. “Top of the baby’s head is visible. Contractions a couple minutes apart. This is happening n
ow.” she noted, as the woman screamed again.

  Or it wasn’t, Althea thought to herself as she continued to watch. The woman grunted and strained but the baby never came. It wouldn’t be long before both mother and baby would be in serious danger.

  Althea stood up and took one of the woman’s hands and held her for a moment by the wrist. Her heart was racing. Easily a hundred beats a minute or more. She was also exhausted to the point, Althea worried, that she no longer had the strength to push the baby out.

  “O que esta errado!” snapped the Rainha behind her.

  Althea slowly turned to see the Cytherean ruler glaring at her. Althea searched her brain, trying to come up with a way to describe what she saw. At the same time she tried to remember her training to figure out what could be causing the woman to seize and tense up at such a crucial point in labor.